Harmony of the Spheres
by Robyn the Perpetually 15
Summary: Save the half-elves, save the world -- that was the mission Mithos set himself on. The Heroes of the Kharlan War sought peace, but did they find it? Read between the lines and you will find what you seek.
1. Threads of Fate

A/N: Hey, all. This is the first chapter (obviously) of my epic, two-years-in-the-making fic. The next chapter may take awhile to come out, as I'm moving to Osaka for the semester and I'm also simultaneously writing another story in the Naruto fandom (probably a bad idea, but oh well.) But rest assured there will be a next chapter. I love this story too much not to finish it.

Anyway, on to the fic. :)

Harmony of the Spheres

Chapter One:

Threads of Fate

Mithos brushed his bangs out of his eyes and glanced out the window with a sigh. The storm had abated somewhat over the past hour, though it was still drizzling steadily. The bright flowers outside were drooping their heads under the weight of the rain, water dripping off them until they hit the ground to form rivulets in the mud. The occasional half-hearted gust of wind sent the leaves rustling in a lonely susurration.

All in all, not good weather for one's birthday.

"This is the worst kind of rain," he mused to his sister Martel, who was drying dishes by the sink. "There's none of the excitement of thunder and lightning, and all that's left is the gloom."

Martel put down a plate with a _clink_ and turned to Mithos, smiling gently. "But when the sun comes out afterwards, everything's fresh and green!"

Mithos cracked a lopsided grin, enheartened by his sister's good cheer. She always seemed to see the silver lining of the dark clouds in his mind. "Yeah, but what if you hate the color green or something?"

Martel put her hands on her hips in mock-indignation. "How could anyone possibly hate a _color,_ much less the one that gives life?" she asked rhetorically, a smile still on her face.

He shrugged. "I dunno, I hate the color orange."

She looked suddenly thoughtful, and put a finger to her chin. "Hmm, then I suppose you won't like the gift I got you..."

His eyes widened minutely. "You got me a present?" he said excitedly, face flushing in embarrassed pleasure.

Martel's smile widened into an outright grin, and she bent down and retrieved a small wrapped box from under the counter. "Of course I did," she said, placing it on the table in front of him. "I would hate to break the tradition."

He looked into her eyes and smiled gratefully, then centered his gaze on the box. It was indeed wrapped in orange tissue paper, and despite his professed dislike of the color he unwrapped it slowly so as not to tear it any more than necessary. He set it aside and stared at the delicate object now in his hands. It was a carved wooden Arshis, the rare animal that evolved as it grew. It was really called a Protozoan, but that name had always sounded cold and clinical to him; this particular form, and its name, reminded him of the dogs that ran freely around Heimdall that would always stop for him and allow themselves to be petted. Protozoa were now extremely rare, and some thought them to be extinct. The figurine was similar to the ones Martel made to be sold in general store they lived over, but far more detailed; it was clear it had been carved with special care. One paw was lifted up, and the head was raised to sniff the wind. The solid wood seemed to ripple like fur even as he watched it.

He looked back up, and realized belatedly that he had tears welling in his eyes. He blinked in a desperate attempt to hold them back. "Thank you, sis," he said, touched. "It's beautiful."

Martel merely smiled, looking as happy as if she had been the one to receive the gift herself.

They sat there for a few minutes as Mithos meticulously folded the wrapping paper, as he was wont to do. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but it was no longer the ominous sound it had been hours before. The siblings were simply content to sit in the warmth of their apartment, listening as the rain pattered on the roof.

Suddenly Mithos realized there was another pattering added to the rain; someone was coming up the stairs. Martel got up, a curious look on her face, and opened the door before their guest could knock. An older man stood there, panting slightly with the exertion. He looked from sibling to sibling and finally said, somewhat worriedly, "I think think you two had better come downstairs." The two followed after their landlord, dread weighing heavy on their hearts.

The shop was dark from the storm, unlike their cozily flickering home above. Normally it would have been bright and filled with customers lounging about and exchanging gossip, but the rain had driven the normal denizens away. The room now only contained two sodden strangers standing next to the grave-looking mayor. A quick, nervous smile flitted over the mayor's face as he saw Mithos and Martel enter, but it was soon gone as he turned to his guests.

"I believe these are the two you were asking after," he said to the hooded faces. "Martel and Mithos Yggdrasill?"

One head nodded, the hood dipping in what would have been his eye-line had his face been visible. "Yes, we have a matter of some importance to discuss with them." Mithos noted with alarm that the man had a cultured Kioto accent -- an accent he had heard only once before, but it would forever be engraved in his mind.

The other drew back her hood, and her curved human ears only confirmed his suspicions. "We are from the Bureau of Immigration, and we need to see your papers for the yearly inspection."

Mithos felt Martel stiffen behind him. "All right, but I'm afraid our papers aren't quite in order," she said softly, taking on the voice she used with those who held authority.

A strange look entered the other woman's eye. "We'll judge that for ourselves, thank you."

As Martel returned upstairs to retrieve their files, Mithos fidgeted uncomfortably, trying to stare at the humans without being too obvious. The man lowered his hood and shook out a shaggy head of hair while the woman appropriated several chairs. He glanced at the two elves in the room, but they wouldn't look him in the eye. He had a sneaking suspicion the mayor at least had known the humans were coming.

He heard Martel's soft footsteps on the stairs behind him, and then she was in front of the humans, handing them several folders with a slight bow. The woman put on a pair of reading glasses and the man drew a bound notebook out of the folds of his cloak. For five minutes they went through the minutiae of the two half-elves' lives, laid out for them in black and white on official documents, occasionally glancing back to the notebook.

Eventually they closed the folders and spoke quietly with each other for a few minutes, and then the man looked up to the others. "I'm afraid there is a...problem."

"What kind of problem?" asked Martel, though they both knew exactly what the problem was.

"According to this -" He tapped the folders meaningfully. "- after you, Martel, became your brother's legal guardian, you failed to acquire living permits for a non-designated area." He looked sharply at the shopkeeper. "You have been boarding them for the last seven months?"

"Yes, but I assumed -"

"While Heimdall is out of Kioto's jurisdiction, the half-elves are not," the woman interrupted. "The tracking devices in their ears are property of the government, and by the Border Act of 1935, it is legally sound to pursue government property into other countries."

"I..." The shopkeeper alternated his gaze between the officials, the mayor, and the siblings, and finally looked at his shoes in defeat. "...I wasn't aware."

"A fine of 400 gald per month should be reasonable," the man said, writing something in his notebook, and turned back to the half-elves. "But your friends are in a somewhat more dire situation."

"Dire?" Mithos managed to get out, his fear finally overcoming his decorum.

They thankfully ignored him completely as the man continued, "By midnight you must be out of Heimdall. Unless you fancy being beggars, I suggest you go to the Kioto Office of Employment and get yourself a permit to look for a job." He glanced back down at the files, and smirked. "Make that two permits -- the boy is old enough to have a job."

"It should be the first thing you do upon arriving," the woman put in, removing her glasses. "As you may know, unemployment is a punishable offense."

Mithos let out a hiss of "Bureaucracy" that thankfully went unnoticed as the two officials gathered their things. "I'm afraid we must leave," said the woman, handing Martel the files, "as we must be on our way back." She pulled her hood back up.

"Have a nice day." And the two departed, rain briefly making its way into the shop before it was blocked by the door again.

There was a moment of silence as the shopkeeper and Martel stood in shock and Mithos and the mayor fumed. Finally the mayor whirled on them.

"I'll probably get voted out of office for harboring two illegal half-elves," he growled. "I should never have let you two into my city." With that he stormed out as well.

The shopkeeper sagged and fell into one of the recently-vacated chairs. "I'm sorry, guys," he said, resting his head in his hands. "I thought I could protect you, but..."

"It's all right, Mr. Ingvi, you did your best," Martel comforted, though she couldn't keep the tremors out of her own voice.

"What are we going to do, Martel?" Mithos asked, managing to keep himself from tugging on her hand anxiously. No, she needed his support now, not some child to burden her.

She collapsed into a chair of her own. "I..." She turned her head, and Mithos knew she was wiping away tears she didn't want him to see. She turned back, her face a bit too cheerful. "I guess we'll just have to go to Kioto, then."

"Kioto," Mithos very nearly growled, slumping to the floor beside her. "That place is filled with nothing but bureaucratic bastards."

"Mithos," Martel admonished weakly, but Ingvi cut her off.

"Not everybody," he said, looking thoughtful. "It's not much, but..." He looked up at them, hope suddenly in his eyes. "My wife's family lives in Kioto. If you mention me, they might let you work for them without a permit."

"You have a wife?" Mithos exclaimed even as Martel said, "You wife lives in Kioto?"

"Well, she used to, anyway," he said, answering the second question.

"But I thought all the elves lived in Heimdall," said Mithos, confused.

Ingvi nodded at him. "Your assumption would be correct. My wife is a human." At their twin expressions of surprise, he explained, "Why do you think I took you two in?" Now he looked wistful. "Our children were half-elves, after all."

Choking down the instinct of repeating his assertion, Mithos asked instead, "_Were_?"

He nodded, eyes on the floor. "Yes. They died in the Kioto riots." He switched his gaze to the ceiling, as if unwilling to look straight at his charges. "We parted ways after that. We thought it would be for the best."

As Martel offered belated platitudes, Mithos's thoughts turned inwards. His hand reached up to his right ear, where his tracking chip was embedded. He could feel it through the cartilage, a constant reminder of who and what he was. When he was in a particularly bad mood he would scratch at it until he bled, but the device was implanted as such that it couldn't be removed or destroyed. It was a part of him, now.

Now he just rubbed at it irritably and let his hand fall back into his lap. Just another way that he was different, then.

He glanced up, realizing that he was being spoken to. "What?"

"I was just saying that we'd better get packing," Martel repeated, eyes soft, as if guessing his thoughts.

Mithos nodded and two headed upstairs, up to the room they could no longer call home. In near-silence they packed their few belongings into several spare duffel bags. If they could afford a wing pack, they could take all they wished, but such things were luxuries and they were forced to leave much behind.

As they made their way out Mithos passed by the kitchen table and noticed among the discarded wrapping paper the carved Arshis that he had been so excited about only half an hour earlier. Now he was so angered by the situation they were forced into he was tempted to smash the thing, but one look at his sister's smiling face squashed that impulse immediately. Instead he placed it carefully in a pocket inside his poncho, where it would be sure to be safe.

They slowly plodded down the stairs, to where Ingvi stood, holding an umbrella and a bag of canned food. He handed them over wordlessly and quickly escaped into the back room, unwilling to see them leave.

"Thank you," said Mithos to a now-empty room.

The streets of Heimdall were quiet but condemning, a muted hostility radiating out from the windows where curious elves peeked around the curtains to stare. The siblings looked straight ahead, eyes on the city gates, heads held high. A gust of wind blew raindrops in their faces, leaving water dripping from their eyelashes and trailing down their cheeks.

They passed through the gate with nary a word from the guards and set off northeast. A silence trailed behind them, a melancholy parade in their honor.

The slanting lines of rain blurred their figures until they disappeared entirely, alone in the wilderness.

--

It was a ratty flier taped to a wall in downtown Fensalir that got his attention. The face looked familiar, but it wasn't until he caught a news reel in the window of an electronics store that he recognized him -- the rogue Kioto knight, up for a bounty of fifteen million gald.

Yuan leaned forward, his breath fogging the glass a bit. That would certainly solve his money problem -- or his _living_ problem, if he wasn't careful, but when your living depended on money, it was worth the risk.

"Half-elf!" the brash call resounded behind him. His hand nearly rose to his right ear self-consciously, but he managed to suppress it, the movement only manifesting itself as a slight twitch.

If he could pass as a human, getting out of town would be a lot easier.

Rough hands grabbed his shoulders and turned him around. He found himself looking up into the red face of a police officer, dark mustache dominating his face. "Half-elf!" he repeated. "You're out of your sector. Where's your pass?"

Yuan recalled years of training and said, contempt dripping from each word, "_Excuse_ me?"

"You deaf? I said -" The officer paused. Yuan had casually raised his left hand and was running one finger along his ear.

His rounded, human ear.

The officer let go and stepped back. "I -- I apologize sir," he said, bobbing his head nervously. "But from behind, you looked -"

Yuan curled a strand of aquamarine hair around one finger. "An unfortunate genetic trait," he said darkly. "Now if you please..."

"Yes, sir." The officer left with another bob of his head, and as soon as he had turned the corner, Yuan quickly made for the sidestreets. It was high time he left.

He hadn't lied about the hair, really. The color was common among half-elves, and extremely rare among humans. He could always dye it, but when money was running low food generally took precedence. Brown hair with blue roots was far more suspicious than blue hair by itself.

But if he managed to catch this guy, he could finally live in comfort -- at least for awhile.

--

The newspaper clipping in his hand crinkled as the cold winds buffeted him. Kratos had hitched a ride on a supply truck from Hokke, but this far south he was on his own. So far he had managed to navigate the archipelago by crossing the numerous rusting bridges, but now he was faced with a gap he wasn't sure how to cross.

The sign read "Bridge Out," and it didn't look like it was going to change anytime soon.

He pulled out his GPS unit, looked at it, and sighed. As he thought, this was the only bridge that lead to the island that housed Nidhogg Industries, Ltd., and his cell phone's crystal had run out long ago. He would either have to get across the strait, or backtrack ten miles and hope for another truck to show up.

He sighed again, resigned. There weren't many places that would hire him these days, and he wasn't about to pass up a chance like this.

He glanced around, hoping for some secret helicopter pad, or at least a payphone. A thought occurred to him, and he began to scramble down the bank to where the derelict bridge was anchored into the ground. As he expected, there was a computer terminal on one of the support braces, for use of technicians and maintenance workers. He found the power button and puffed out a small cloud of warm air as he waited for the screen to load. Why they made it so difficult to get to their building, he had no idea.

Eventually a status screen popped up, and various meaningless statistics scrolled past -- the only one he understood was that the bridge wasn't due for repair for another three weeks. He tapped a few buttons randomly until a menu screen came up. Among the options listed was one that said only "Call." When nothing else useful made itself known, he hesitantly selected it.

The screen went black.

He hissed a few choice words until he realized that a voice was crackling out of some hitherto unnoticed speakers. "Security Office, what's wrong?"

Kratos decided to get straight to the point. "How do I get across with the bridge out?"

There was a pause. "Who's speaking?"

"Someone who wants to take up the job offer."

A sigh of annoyance. "Name, please?"

"Kratos Aurion."

For a moment Kratos wondered if his name had elicited an unwelcome response, but he was then told, "We'll be sending over a helicopter immediately," and the line went dead.

He left the computer on, just in case. This was all very suspicious, but a major weapons manufacturer was entitled to heavy security. He was probably just being paranoid.

Still, it was best to keep on his guard, he mused as the whirring of helicopter rotors grew louder.


	2. Entwined

A/N: Revised 12/30/07

Chapter Two:

Entwined

The buildings of Kioto formed an urban canyon through which a strong wind blew, bringing with it the smell of sea salt and decaying garbage. Against the darkening sky Mithos could see the imperial palace gleaming from its perch upon the promontory overlooking the ocean. That shining beacon stood in stark contrast to the slums he and his sister now trudged through.

The employment office had been closed, being open only on Wednesdays, so now they wandered the city in search of a man known only as "Demon". All attempts to enter the human sector of the city had been rebuffed, so their only chance to meet Ingvi's wife was to sneak in -- which, they had been assured, Demon could help them with.

They found him in a seedy bar whose patrons made Mithos grip his sister's hand protectively. One of them pointed him out to them, leering at Martel before sending them on their way. They stopped before a table where a man with one arm sat, smoking like a chimney. His left sleeve fluttered uselessly in the faint wind from the fan above. Upon hearing their footsteps he looked up, rubbed a stubbly chin with his remaining hand, and spat out, "Whaddaya want?"

Mithos adopted a look he hoped was stern. He opened his mouth to respond in kind, but Martel said remarkably politely, "We're looking for Demon."

The man switched his cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other and grinned in a manner not altogether reassuring. "And why would two pretty little things like you be looking for Demon?"

"We need to get into the human sector," Martel replied calmly.

"Gotta be quiet about these things," Demon said, not lowering his voice. "The walls have ears."

"Why? Are the feds here?" Mithos asked.

Demon displayed his feral set of teeth again. "Naw, they wouldn't come in here," he said, leaning back in his chair so that it was balanced precariously on two legs. "But you never know who else will."

Mithos looked around cautiously. Everyone in there could be termed suspicious. "You don't seem very worried."

The man shrugged, the effect strange with only one arm. "Sit down and we'll talk."

The siblings took the proffered chairs, Mithos gingerly, Martel with dignity. Mithos wondered vaguely if anyone had been killed while sitting in that chair.

"The going rate is one hundred gald per person," Demon was saying. "However, I've got some...special connections, so I can get you in for half as

much." There was that grin again. "First time only, of course. For twenty extra, I can escort you to wherever you need to go."

Mithos dug through their coin purse. Twenty-five, fifty, sixty... He showed the results to his sister under the table with his fingers. They had enough, but it would leave them with nothing.

In response, Martel closed her eyes in resignation and reached around to the back of her neck. "Would you be willing to accept this as payment?" she asked, unclasping something.

Demon took the proffered necklace in his one hand and scrutinized it as Mithos bit back a yelp of recognition. _Father's pendant..._ He looked at his sister for confirmation, and she nodded sadly.

Demon was turning the necklace over in his hand, a look of interest on his face. "And what's this made of?" he asked, bringing it up to one eye.

"Aionis," Martel replied, despite Mithos's frantic shaking of his head. "It amplifies magic...well, for elves and half-elves, anyway."

Demon smirked suddenly. "This will do just fine." He slipped the pendant into some unseen pocket and leaned back comfortably. "We can leave whenever you want."

Mithos glanced at his sister. This seemed all too easy. As if divining his thoughts, she asked, "What does getting into the human sector entail, exactly?"

The man let the legs of his chair thump back to the ground. "That's the trick, isn't it?" he said. "The way I've been doing it the past few years is to pretend that the half-elves are my servants."

Again, that feeling of unease. Martel was smiling with her mouth only, her eyes tightening into an expression Mithos knew far too well. Before she could even open her mouth in agreement, he quickly interjected, "Sis, can I talk to you for a second?"

She looked at him, surprised, and nodded. She led him into the small hallway that led to the restrooms, where he broke out in an angry whisper, "I don't _trust_ that guy, Martel!"

She shrugged, the same smile still on her face. "Neither do I," she said simply.

The retort died on his tongue. "Then...then why are we putting our lives in his hands?" he sputtered.

She averted her gaze from him, almost in shame. "Because we have to," she replied softly. "You know we don't have our papers in order, so we can't get work permits. We don't have enough money to get them put in order. And we certainly can't live in the wild."

Mithos's heart sank further than he thought possible. He looked back across the room, where Demon still sat facing away from them. He was probably just paranoid, but he felt as if the man was somehow listening in.

"All right," he said finally. There was something Martel wasn't telling him, but the sad look in her eyes prevented him from probing any deeper.

He nodded, and together the two walked back to Demon. "We're ready to go," Martel informed him, and he grunted in affirmation.

"Let's get a move on," he said, and extinguished his cigarette on the table.

--

By the time they got to the security checkpoint, Demon seemed to be an entirely different person. He had changed out of his grungy clothes and was now wearing an expensive robe. His speech had switched from that of the Higashi sector to the accent of a Kioto aristocrat. He even bore himself with the arrogance of the noble who knows well his own worth.

"Don't speak at all," this new stranger now reminded them. "They're used to half-elves who wouldn't dare look a human in the eye, and we're trying to keep a low profile."

Mithos glanced pointedly at what was, to him, Demon's outlandish garb. The man let out a low chuckle. "No, trust me, they actually wear this stuff around here." He gave them an amused look. "You two really are hicks, aren't you?"

Mithos bristled, but didn't say anything. As they drew nearer to the guard, Demon called out in a friendly manner, "It's been getting warmer, eh, Yohei?"

Yohei grinned in response. "And to think that the winter had been so cold," he replied. The three drew up alongside him, and he examined the two half-elves. "And where did you find these two, Mr. Bland?"

Demon -- or Bland? -- waved a finger in mock admonition. "Now, now, you know a good businessman never reveals his secrets."

"I may have to go into the business myself," Yohei laughed. He looked again at Mithos's frowning face, and added in a somewhat more serious tone,

"Though this one looks a little feisty. I could rough him up a little for you, yeah?"

"No, that's not necessary," Demon said. "The ones with spirit are always so amusing." The two men chuckled at this, as if the two half-elves weren't even there.

Demon cleared his throat. "I must be going now, I've an appointment to make..." He drew a wallet out of a hidden pocket and rifled through it, but Yohei stopped him with one hand.

"No, that's fine Mr. Bland, I know who you are." He graciously waved him through the checkpoint, and when Martel and Mithos failed to move quickly enough, he growled slightly and they jumped forward. Martel ducked a quick bow in deference, but Mithos left his back unbent. The guard watched him carefully as they rounded the corner.

A few blocks later they found themselves in front of a restaurant with darkened windows. Demon ignored the "Closed" sign hung on the door and strode inside, the other two following cautiously.

"You can relax now," said Demon, not dropping his accent. He sat on a table and drew a long-stemmed pipe out of his sleeve. Soon smoke curled about him like a wreath once more. "You'll have to leave through the door out back," he continued, his nicotine craving apparently satisfied. "As long as you keep to the alleys, you can get to pretty much wherever you want without being too suspicious."

Martel bowed low. "Thank you for everything you've done for us, Mister Demon," she said.

At this Demon let out a great belly laugh. "_Mister_ Demon, eh?" he said, slipping briefly back into the Higashi dialect. He coughed, then seemed to compose himself. "Yes, well, you two get along. Don't waste any time, now."

Martel bowed again, then headed off towards the kitchens. Mithos slowed behind her, and before he got out of sight he turned to look at Demon again. The smoke that drifted around him glowed red dimly. The flickering of the light from his pipe lit his face from below, accentuating his sunken eye sockets and sharp cheekbones. He seemed to be deep in thought.

Mithos shook his head and turned away.

--

The house they stood before was a red-bricked affair with yellow curtains in the windows and pink flowers in the garden. Martel let out a few "ooh"s in appreciation before walking up the path and ringing the doorbell.

A young man opened the door, not much older than Mithos, and looked at the pair skeptically. "Are you with the caterers?" he said, the door still half-closed. "You're late, if you go around the back the kitchen is --"

"I'm sorry, but we're not with the caterers," Martel interrupted. "Does a Nadine Fletcher live here?"

The boy gave them a strange look. "Hang on," he said, and closed the door in their faces.

Mithos sighed and glanced at his sister. "Are you sure you've got the right address?"

Martel drew a scrap of paper out of a pocket and read it over. She turned around a few times, straining her eyes for street signs, then sighed and put the paper away. "Maybe she moved," she conceded.

The door opened a crack, only the boy's face showing. "That was my great-grandmother's name," he said, the same strange look on his face.

_Was?_ thought Mithos, even as his sister said, "Oh, I'm so sorry."

The human boy shrugged uncomfortably. "I never knew her. She died of old age when I was little."

"I think we're after a different Nadine Fletcher," said Martel apologetically. "She would still be alive, she was involved in the half-elf riots --"

"The hell?" the boy interjected. "The half-elf riots were like eighty years ago."

"Yes?" said Martel, not understanding what he was getting at.

The look on the boy's faced morphed into one of outright disgust. "You freaks! You people don't have any concept of time, do you?" he spat, before slamming the door.

Mithos looked up at his sister searchingly as she led him off of the porch. "What was he talking about?"

Martel's eyes were downcast, seemingly watching the flowers at her feet. "I had...forgotten," she said quietly. "Humans...they don't live as long as we do."

"But surely she would still be alive after eighty years --" Mithos began, eyes wide.

Martel shook her head. "That's about as old as they live to be," she said. "Even the oldest human recorded only lived to be 118."

Mithos fell silent, his steps slowing as he considered this. "Those...poor people," he said finally.

Martel squeezed his hand. "I don't think they'd want your pity," she said gently.

"Because I'm a half-elf," Mithos concluded bitterly.

Martel shook her head. "No, that's not it. Humans..." Here she looked up wistfully at the sky. "...They're special. They do a lot with the time that's

given them."

"Sis?" Mithos was glancing around them, growing steadily more nervous. "Where are we?"

Martel looked around as well, and the skin around her eyes tightened. As they had talked, they had wandered into an alleyway neither recognized. Graffiti covered the walls, and while colorful, it was decidedly menacing in nature. Many were anti-half-elf slogans, such as "send the halvsies underground" and others much less polite. There were some insulting-sounding words that Mithos had never heard of before, and he couldn't help but catalogue them away for future reference.

One of these words was abruptly barked from behind them. "Oi, you two desians! What do you think you're doing here?"

Mithos jerked around to face the voice. Several rough-looking humans stood in the light at the end of the alleyway, most brandishing weapons of some sort. The grins on their faces did not look at all welcoming.

"Yeah, they're just like The Sender described 'em," said one to another, clearly assuming the half-elves couldn't hear him. "We should get paid well for this job."

"I think you two'd better come with us," said the leader, ignoring his underling. "Else things could get a little...violent."

Martel pushed Mithos behind her, though he wasn't sure what she thought she could do to defend them. "What do you want with us?" she said, her voice wavering despite herself.

The man waved a finger in mock admonishment. "Now, now, that's not something for you to know," he said patronizingly.

Mithos stifled the retort that was on the tip of his tongue. He didn't want to draw attention to himself, as an idea had occurred to him. He hadn't had many chances to practice his magic, but if he could prepare a spell without them noticing...

"I thank you for your offer of an escort, but I'm sure we'll be fine." Mithos snorted under his breath. He doubted an escort was what they had in mind. He turned his attention back to his hands, where a small ball of light was forming, as his sister continued. "If you'll excuse us, we'll be out of the human sector as quickly as possible --"

She was interrupted by the thugs' raucous laughter. "Not really what we had in mind, little lady," said one. They began to advance on them, and Mithos realized that his time was very quickly running out.

He muttered an incantation, his haste slurring the words, and awkwardly threw his ball of light into his enemies' faces. "Photon!" he cried out, the last word coming out loud and clear. His spell hung in front of the startled men's faces, contracting briefly before exploding in a flash of light. While the men were still half-blinded, he grabbed his sister's hand and ran in the opposite direction. "Come on!"

His sister stumbled behind him, and he reared back in surprise when he turned his head and saw another man looming over them. "Playtime's over," the man growled, and pulled out a gun. Mithos barely had time to gape in shock before the man's finger closed over the trigger, and he heard a thump as his sister fell to the ground.

Mithos's wide eyes took in the sight of Martel sprawled unconscious upon the dirty asphalt, and he sunk to his knees beside her. "No," he choked out, mind barely registering the tranquilizer dart lodged in her neck. He took one hand in his, but she didn't respond. "Martel..."

He blinked through his tears and noticed that the thugs had surrounded him now. "You little bastard," one growled, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Unharmed," the man with the gun barked, but they ignored him, advancing on the boy with their weapons raised.

Mithos heard nothing of what they said. He only saw the men crowding around his sister with predatory looks on their faces, and something within him snapped.

"Get away!" he roared, the words somehow getting past the constriction in his throat. His hand found a rusty metal pipe and he swung it in a half-circle around him. It clanged as it connected with the various weapons the men held. The thugs only grinned, and one sprang forward and hit him solidly in the side with a quarter-staff. Mithos thought he felt something break, and he clutched at his side, musing vaguely that that would leave an ugly bruise later. He jerked to his feet despite his pain and jabbed his makeshift weapon in the man's stomach, mindless of the others closing in on him.

As the others crushed about him with roars of anger he somehow heard a click above the mayhem, followed by a sharp prick in his neck; and as the light faded from his eyes, he went down still screaming in fury.

--

The man known variously as Demon, Mr. Bland, or sometimes simply The Sender let out a puff of blue-gray smoke and watched it drift away. They were nice enough kids, they really were, but they were far too naïve for their own good. He hoped that the thugs in his employ wouldn't rough them up too badly – his finder's fee would be significantly reduced.

His cell phone started ringing in a familiar tune. He brought the thing up to his ear, and after listening to the voice on the other end for a few moments, he said, speaking around his pipe, "Yes, one adolescent male, one grown female. My people should be picking them up shortly." Another query. "Yes, in excellent condition, or they should be. I also picked up something interesting...a necklace made of something called Aionis." The other voice continued on, and Demon's smile gradually grew wider.

"Oh really? That is...most excellent."

--

Kratos sat at his desk and idly twirled a pencil in his fingers. He didn't recall ever having a desk before; all his previous jobs had involved people telling him to do things and them him going and doing them. Or, later, him telling other people to do things. It had been simple, really.

And not _nearly_ so boring.

When he had first been escorted through the doors of the Nidhogg compound, he hadn't been sure what he had been expecting -- maybe a huge stainless steel room with a death ray in the midst of construction and people in white contamination suits running around with clipboards in hand. But he had been greeted by room full of desks and filing cabinets, the odd discarded electronics and blaster carbines at odds with the rest of the room. The people in Research and Development seemed subdued, even friendly, a few waving at him nervously. Many had comic strips and children's pictures tacked up on the walls of their cubicles. A few model airplanes swooped down from the ceiling on plastic cords.

It was all very surreal.

And now Kratos sat at his desk with nothing to do except try not to doodle on the forms he had been given to fill out . He had completed them long ago, despite the bureaucratic euphemisms liberally scattered throughout.

He had been told, time and time again, that he had no patience, and he was beginning to suspect these repeated exhortations were true. He felt that if he wasn't up and doing something within the next five minutes, he would have to resort to throwing his pencil at the ceiling. He doubted that would create a very good impression of him.

His boredom was interrupted when somebody rapped lightly on his door and opened it without waiting for a reply. "Something's come up that needs your attention," said the man now standing there. Kratos began to stand up, but the man dropped a stapled set of papers on his desk. _Dammit. _"Read these over – they'll give you some background information you need to know," he continued. "I'll come back to get you in half an hour or so, and you can give us some input."

The man left before Kratos could even say anything. He looked at the report on his desk skeptically. Well, at least it was something to do.

As he skimmed through the report, several things caught his attention. Apparently Nidhogg was attempting to create a more powerful version of dwarf spheres, or "crystals" as people tended to call them. Crystals were only used for small household appliances and the like, while larger magitechnology relied on the mana from the Giant Kharlan Tree.

Kratos nodded in approval. That would certainly take some strain off of the Tree. There had been worry lately that the war had been using up more energy than the Tree could produce, as evidenced by normally functional machines simply grinding to a halt for lack of power. It didn't help that what might have been a successful treaty had been ruined by an explosion that each country had blamed on the other.

But what really interested him was the research being conducted on implanting crystals in people. Apparently there was evidence that the crystal provided a significant power-up to its wearer, creating endless possibilities for military uses.

Though what these miracle crystals were called caused him to snort in amusement. "Ex-spheres"? No one would take these things seriously with that kind of name.


	3. Return Our Innocence

A/N: Edited 11/20/08

Chapter Three:

Return Our Innocence

Martel stared at the stainless steel ceiling and struggled to remember where she was. She breathed in and out slowly as the fog in her head cleared. Abruptly her breath caught in her throat when images of Kioto filtered through her mind, and knowledge of her predicament raised its ugly head.

_Their_ predicament. Where was Mithos? She stopped breathing entirely. Had those thugs hurt him? Though she ached all over, she didn't think she had been seriously hurt. She sat up with some difficulty and looked around the room she now found herself in. The walls and floor were of the same stainless steel the ceiling was made of, save for one wall that appeared to be made of glass. From where she sat she could see another cell across from her own, where a young man was slumped up against one wall.

She turned her head, and almost missed the small lump huddled on the cot on the wall opposite from hers. She stumbled off her cot with a small gasp and made her way to Mithos's side. His face was pale, only accentuating the bruise that was forming on his cheek. She raised her hand reflexively, but the familiar healing magic didn't come. Her own personal mana stores were exhausted, and the ambient mana....

She collapsed from her crouched position by Mithos' cot. When she had reached out to draw in mana, she had only touched a void. She floundered about, but could sense nothing. She surmised that this was even worse that being suddenly blinded – at least you would know there was _something_ to see_._

So disturbed was she by this strange phenomenon that she failed to notice Mithos stir from his unnatural sleep. It took a weak groan of "Sis?" to rouse her from her stupor.

"I'm here," she said, taking his hand.

Mithos squeezed her hand uncertainly and attempted to sit up. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you."

Martel gently pushed him back down on the bed when she saw him struggle to merely stay upright. "Oh, Mithos...." She fought to keep her sadness out of her voice. "You shouldn't have to protect me."

Mithos acquiesced to his sister's wishes and flopped back down on the cot. "But I _do_ have to, and I couldn't."

She began smoothing back his hair in a soothing gesture; normally he would have brushed her hand aside in embarrassment, but he now accepted her touch like it was a healing balm. "Don't blame yourself, Mithos," she said finally, at a loss. Was there nothing she could to to ease his pain, physical or mental?

Mithos grabbed ahold of the hand stroking his hair and looked at his sister earnestly. "It's not your fault either," he said, misinterpreting her sad look.

She shook her head. "No, it's no one's fault."

Mithos shot up again, ignoring any physical discomfort. "What about those humans, then? This didn't just happen by itself!"

"They were just doing their job --"

"You can't just _forgive_ everybody --" Mithos' anger was interrupted by a sudden bout of nausea.

After he had finished retching in the corner, Martel helpless to do anything but hold his hair back, she said weakly, "I'm sorry I can't do anything for you. My magic...."

Mithos looked up curiously. "What do you mean? You haven't used any spells lately, so you should have plenty of mana...."

"I know, but...." She sighed. "Mithos, try reaching out for mana."

Mithos closed his eyes as he did so, then shivered as he undoubtably touched what she had. "That's really creepy," he said, turning whiter than he already was.

"It's the walls in here," said a voice behind them, and they turned in surprise. The half-elf in the cell across from theirs was awake, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He ran a hand wearily through hair that looked like it had once been bright red, but was now stained dark with grime. "They're made of something that blocks magic," the man continued. "There's a lot of half elves down here, so they need it to keep us from escaping."

"Down here?" Mithos crawled forward and pressed his hands to the glass that separated their cell from the hallway. "Where are we?"

"Hell." At their looks he elaborated. "Well, I don't know, exactly – none of us do. But judging by what goes on around here, we think we're in one of the Nidhogg facilities."

"Nidhogg?" Martel said in growing comprehension. "You mean the company that protects Heimdall in exchange for political immunity from Tethe'alla and Sylvarant?"

The other half-elf nodded. "One and the same."

"Wait, what?" Mithos turned to his sister in confusion. "I've never heard of this before."

"It was negotiated ten years ago, you were too young to remember," said Martel. "Nidhogg is a weapons manufacturer, and in order to sell to both sides, the company is technically registered under Heimdall. In return Nidhogg prevents Heimdall from being exploited by the two countries."

"So Heimdall's actually funding the war effort?" Mithos concluded, looking utterly depressed.

The man saw his expression and shook his head. "Not really. The war would have continued either way. At least now Heimdall's not being destroyed by it."

As much as this man was right, Martel didn't want his pessimism to affect Mithos' already dark mood. "Excuse me, but what's your name?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, right." The man stood up and performed an awkward bow. "Haddon Envoy, at your service."

Martel nodded her head back, still too tired to stand up again. "I'm Martel, and this is my brother Mithos."

"Nice to meet you," said Mithos automatically, his thoughts obviously elsewhere.

"Shit." The whispered oath, however, brought him back to his senses. "The guards are coming. They're probably...." He shook his head, a look of sorrow on his face. "I...I'm sorry." Those cryptic words said, Haddon lay down on his cot and feigned sleep.

The siblings looked at each other, uncomprehending. Then they too heard the clatter of metal-shod footsteps. Martel drew her brother to herself instinctively, and Mithos let her.

Two guards wearing strange metal armor stopped in front of their cell. One stood unmoving as the other fumbled with some unseen panel on the wall; and as the light glanced off their armor, it occurred to Martel that it was made of the same substance as the walls.

The glass wall gently slid open with a whir. One of the soldiers waved a finger in front of Martel's face, and she followed it instinctively with her eyes.

"Seems lucid enough," he said.

"Good, cuff 'em," said the other. Both guards unhooked shackles from their belts and restrained the unresisting half-elves.

As they were led along the long hall of the cell block, Martel couldn't help but peer into the other cells that lined the walls. In every one were half-elves, and they all looked miserable. The occasional spirited soul would pound on the glass and shout obscenities, but most languished in their cells and stared with dead eyes.

Inevitably her gaze turned to Mithos. He was staring at the ground with wide eyes, and he was trembling almost imperceptibly. _He's terrified,_ she realized. She squeezed her eyes shut as tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. _And I can do absolutely nothing to help him._

"Aw, jeez lady, they can't be _that_ tight," said one of the guards, startling her. He reached around her and fiddled with her handcuffs, loosening them slightly. "Now stop crying already."

Martel brought one hand up to touch her cheek, the cuffs dragging her other hand up with it. Her fingers came away wet. Mithos was looking at her now, shocked out of his stupor. She hid her face with her hands.

After being led through a seemingly endless series of identical hallways, the two captives found themselves before a line of doors. Abruptly the guards began pulling them in opposite directions – Mithos in one door, Martel in through another.

"No! Where are you taking my sister?!" Mithos shouted, struggling suddenly. One of the guards slapped him, nearly bowling him over, and Mithos gasped as his recent bruise was struck once again.

"No! Leave him alone!" Martel moved to help her brother, but the guard grabbed her by her shoulders and pulled her backwards.

"Martel!" Mithos quickly recovered and lunged forward again, but the guard only picked him up and slung him over his shoulder. Mithos pounded at his back ineffectively.

Martel shook her head. His struggling would only get him hurt again. "Mithos." He stopped his struggle and twisted to look over the guard's shoulder. "I'll be all right."

Her tears belied her calm voice, but Mithos seemed to take her reassurance for what it was.

That was all the guards needed. Mithos was hauled into another room, and the door slammed shut between them.

---

"Impressive."

"It's only a prototype, of course," the man said, as he and Kratos watched two men fight behind a one-way mirror. "We need to work out a few kinks before we introduce it to the market, but the concept has certainly proved itself."

Kratos followed the fighters' movements as a blue glow formed around one man's blade, slicing the other's sword in two. "Indeed," was all he said.

"We thought that as a man who has been on the battlefield himself, you would be able to offer useful suggestions," the man continued, not bothered by his companion's reticence.

Kratos eyed the dueling room warily. Scars still remained in the walls and floor that looked like they had been made by some giant animal with claws of steel. "What happens if the crystals go dead on the battlefield?" he asked in lieu of voice his thoughts.

"Ah, that's the ingenious part," the man said, not removing his eyes from the fighters. "The modified dwarf spheres seem to act as an amplifier when applied to humans. It draws energy from the wearer's body, runs it through a feedback loop, and feeds the energy back into the user, effectively negating the need for recharge. They're really quite amazing little stones," he added with a glance at Kratos.

One of the men behind the glass finally held his hands up in surrender, and two men in white suits entered the room to lead the fighters out. "It seems too good to be true," said Kratos.

"Oh, it is, of course," the man replied cheerfully, flipping a switch so that the window went dark. "We don't know how to make them synthetically, so we still have to mine for crystals like the rest of the world. Still," the man shrugged and turned to face Kratos fully, "at least there appears to be no end to them."

"Hmm." Kratos tapped his fingers on his crossed arms. "And what do you need me for? You seem to have a handle on the things already."

"You don't miss a beat, do you?" The man smiled. "We're getting close to our final stages of testing, so we'd like to test it on a larger scale. We want to run a battlefield simulation, but for that we need a commander – you."

Kratos smirked. "So you're not asking for my scientific expertise."

The man laughed outright. "No, not by any means. Anyway, you won't be wearing a crystal yourself, of course. You just need to direct two squads of our volunteers to fight each other in approximations of real wartime situations."

"I think I can manage that." Kratos's gaze was distant, his mind filling with maneuvers and strategies.

"I can see those gears are turning already," said the man with a shrewd look. "If you can draw up some plans by the end of the week, we'll put them through review and go from there."

"I'll look forward to it." They shook hands, and Kratos left the room for his office.

If it weren't for the pristine white walls in place of a centuries-old facade of brick, Kratos could almost believe that he was back at the barracks. As close to the testing chambers as he was, the halls were filled with cheerful men bristling with weaponry, punctuated by the odd scientist and clipboard. His face was already known, it seemed, and he was greeted in passing by waves or smiles – not by the stares or fearful looks of civilians. Once again his mind was humming with battle formations rather than the mundane aspects of living. He was happier than he had been for months.

In his ruminations, his absent wanderings had led him astray from his intended path, and he found himself in unfamiliar territory. No warriors walked these halls. Kratos turned a corner, and found another empty hall exactly like the one he had just left.

He scowled at his lack of attention. Had his instincts atrophied already? He peered at a sign on a door, hoping to get his bearings.

_Containment Room 7 – Danger – Authorized personnel only._

Interesting. Containment for what? He was fairly certain crystals weren't radioactive at any stage.

His question was answered somewhat when a thump followed by an inhuman roar came from inside the room. His hand went to a sword that wasn't there. A crash was followed by a strangled cry, and silence fell in the hall once more.

Kratos slowly relaxed. When nothing else had happened for a minute or so, he straightened and continued down the hall. Sticking his nose into things

that didn't concern him had never done him any good.

After a few more turns he was no closer to his office than he had been. He allowed himself an irritable sigh. Why hadn't he looked at a map beforehand? Just because he was a white collar worker now didn't mean he could be off his guard.

He heard the clatter of footsteps from around a corner and suppressed a resigned sigh. As loathe as he was to ask for help he would have to ask for directions if he didn't want to look foolish.

He was already making his way towards the sound of footsteps as they turned the corner, only to be stopped in his tracks when he saw who it was.

Two guards in strange armor were leading along a blond child, bound and swaying on his feet. His face was bruised, and he did not seem to be aware of his surroundings. When he stumbled, one of the guards shoved him forward.

Kratos forced himself to keep walking, eyes on the walls rather than on the spectacle before him. Once he had passed them, he carefully dropped a pen and then turned around to pick it up. He paused as he knelt, watching the trio until they turned another corner.

Kratos slowly stood up again. Despite all the oddities that scene had presented – a boy in a military research facility, his battered appearance, the handcuffs that bound him – one thing stood out above all.

The boy was wearing an Ex-sphere.

---

Martel fingered the crystal on her chest nervously. The skin around the implant was red and itchy, but the crystal itself was smooth and unmarred. She drew her hand away quickly and let it rest on her lap, discomfited by the entirely foreign thing now embedded in her chest. She hadn't been awake when it had been implanted – at least she didn't think she had, most of what had happened after she had been tied down to the table was strangely fuzzy in her mind – so she had no idea how she retained no scars. No matter how she wracked her mind, she couldn't come up with a single theory as to why they had implanted the thing in her skin in the first place.

Her musings were interrupted by the door to the operating room sliding open with a hiss. She looked up to see a middle-aged man come in, fiddling with something in his pocket. He wasn't wearing the clothes of a doctor or a guard, looking rather more like an office worker. Before she could consider this further, he drew something familiar out of a pocket. "One of our agents reported that this belonged to you," he said, not bothering with pleasantries.

She hardly heard his words, as she was focused entirely on the thing dangling from his hand – her father's pendant, which she had given to Demon in payment for his aid. "How did you get that?" she gasped before she could stop herself.

He ignored her question and continued, "It is made of Aionis, which amplifies magic?" She nodded cautiously. "And where did you get this?"

"My...my father gave it to me, long ago," Martel said slowly, not sure where this was going.

"And where would he have gotten it?" the man said impatiently.

"Well, since the elves are the ones who brought Aionis from Derris-Kharlan," she said, thinking, "then I suppose he would have gotten it in Heimdall."

"Heimdall, huh." The man looked thoughtful, and left without saying another word.

Martel opened and closed her mouth, then looked down to where her feet were kicking against the operation table. She berated herself for not asking after Demon's health. She hoped they hadn't hurt him to get her necklace.

Inevitably her thoughts turned to Mithos. She brought her hands to her face in horror as she realized she hadn't even considered what this ordeal might be doing to him. Had he been implanted with a sphere as well? To her it was merely irritating, but for Mithos –

She had to get to him, to prevent him from hurting himself.

She slid off the operating table and ran to the door, banging on it desperately with her two bound hands. "Please let me out!" she screamed. "Let me see my brother! _Please!_"

Her shrieks continued, with steadily growing panic, until her throat grew raw and she could shout no more. When she realized no help would be coming, she looked around the room for something, anything that would get her out of that room. But all of the doctors' tools and contraptions had been removed, and there was nothing she could use as a lever to pry the door open.

A sob was threatening to escape, but she choked it down and tried to concentrate. The door was controlled electronically, so she couldn't pick the lock, even if she knew how to. She couldn't overload its circuits, as she knew no lightning spells; and in any case this room was magically shielded as well.

Maybe there was some way to create an emergency, to bring them down here and open the door? But again, anything potentially dangerous had been removed, and she couldn't cast. The only thing she saw that she could use was a large button by the door. Perhaps it was a call button, in case of emergencies? With nothing left to try, she pressed it.

The door slid open.

Martel stood unmoving, and the door soon closed again in her gaping face. The office worker had left the door unlocked.

She took a deep breath and let it out shakily. She knew now what she had to do, but not if she had the courage to do it. She tugged ineffectually at the cuffs still adorning her wrists, but there was nothing for it. She slapped the button once again and, heart pounding and brow drenched in a cold sweat, dashed into the hallway to the door where she had last seen her brother being taken.

The door opened without protest, but one glance around the room revealed no trace of Mithos. Nonetheless she tip-toed into the room, touching the strange metal fixtures tentatively, as if doing so would uncover clues of her brother. She whispered his name, but it was swallowed up by the walls.

She braced herself against the operating table on which her brother surely must have lain. Her plans, what little there had been of them, had been dashed. She felt a whimper rising in her throat, and she didn't have the strength to suppress it. Her thoughts were spiraling, and her breath was growing short. No longer even thinking, she stumbled back into the endless white hallway and wandered blindly, without direction or hope.

---

He was no longer even looking for his office; his mind was in far too much turmoil for that. He wondered if he had somehow stumbled into a bizarre alternate reality, where strange experiments were carried out behind the reinforced metal doors that lined the neverending series of identical hallways. It was unearthly quiet, save for the occasional inhuman scream and --

And very human sobbing.

He stopped, distracted suddenly from his thoughts. Yes, someone was definitely crying, unseen around some corner. The memory of the boy's face crossed his mind, and he found himself drawn toward the noise.

He found it in the form of a girl crumpled in a corner, shackled hands clutching her head, shoulders shaking. She looked up suddenly, startled, and in her red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked face he again saw the boy.

And even as they stared at each other, he heard another, all-too-familiar sound: heavy boots clacking against the floor.

He knew it was a bad idea, perhaps the worst idea he had ever had. But as the footsteps grew louder and as the girl finally took his outstretched hand, Kratos also knew that it was indisputably, undoubtedly _right_.


	4. Break

A/N: Edited 2/26/08

Chapter Four:

Break

He had said "Come," and so she had. They were running; she didn't know where to, she didn't even know if _he_ knew; but if they were running they were getting somewhere, and that was good enough for her.

She was not unaware of the legion of footsteps behind them, of the shouts that followed her every turn; the strange human seemed all _too_ aware, as his face grew stonier with every passing moment; but she could not bring herself to care. Her thoughts centered around her brother, and everything else was secondary.

They found themselves before a wide door guarded by two men in armor, and suddenly the shouts were in front of them as well. Martel stopped in her tracks, but the man never stopped moving. Before the guards could fully draw their swords, the man performed a maneuver that left one guard on the floor and bereft of his weapon; soon his blood was on the floor as well. Martel couldn't help but stare in horrified fascination.

"Open the door," the man growled out, not looking up from where he was struggling with the remaining guard, and Martel was thankfully drawn from her stupor. She stepped over the guard's body, carefully not looking down, and examined the door control. There were no buttons, just a swipe for a key card.

There was a shout, and she turned to see the reinforcements coming down the long hallway. There was no time left, so ignoring the way the guard stared emptily at nothing, ignoring how he was no longer moving and likely never would again, ignoring the blood now soaking her shoes and how his body was still warm, she searched fumblingly through his pockets before coming up with a key card. She swiped it, and the door opened; she and her rescuer, opponent defeated, ran in; for a few nervewracking moments, the door remained gaping wide; and then the door closed with a somewhat anticlimactic swish and click.

The man was already bashing at the door panel with the hilt of the sword he had taken from one of the downed guards. When she just stood and stared, panting from the exertion of running all this way, he yelled, "Barricade the door!" and motioned to a large metal cabinet that stood by the door.

His order took a few moments to process, and she nodded belatedly. She positioned herself on the far side of the cabinet from the man and pushed with all her might, but it hardly moved. She wondered absently what was inside. Hearing as if for the first time the shouts outside, she redoubled her efforts, but it wasn't until the man joined her that the cabinet made any progress toward the door.

Finally the cabinet stood blocking the door; it wouldn't prevent its opening, but would merely serve as another obstacle. The man had manged to pry off the door panel and had pulled at the wires inside; any effort from inside or outside the room to open the door would have to be done manually.

Danger momentarily averted, her thoughts returned immediately to Mithos. All exhaustion forgotten, Martel ran along the rows of cells, searching the haggard faces for one familiar one.

She found him laying again on his cot, curled up on his side. His eyes were closed, and yes, there was a crystal implanted in his chest.

Her hands pounded up against the cell door in frustration. His name passed her lips, and she let out a quiet sob.

"He's fine, just sedated," said a voice behind her, and she whirled in surprise. The half-elf from before – Haddon, a small voice in the back of her mind supplied – was awake and staring at her. "What the hell's going on?"

"I—" _Escaped_, she almost said, before she realized that, with the guards blocked only by a cabinet and an inoperative door, she was just as trapped as before.

"That key card in your hand," Haddon said urgently, before she could fall into despair again. "That will open the cells."

She nodded, not really listening, then nodded again as she realized what he said. She opened Mithos's cell and hurried to his side. "Mithos," she said quietly, ghosting one hand over his cheek.

His eyes squeezed shut, as if he was in pain, then fluttered open. "Martel?" he said groggily, trying to focus on her face.

Martel couldn't say anything, and just buried her face in his shoulder and stifled her sobs. Mithos hugged her weakly.

"I hate to break up the family reunion, but...." ventured Haddon after a few moments, and Martel looked up to realize she had forgotten about him entirely. She shot him an apologetic look, then turned back to Mithos to place a kiss on his forehead. "I'll be right back," she whispered, and drew away reluctantly.

Soon Haddon stood in the hallway, stretching in joy at his freedom. Martel returned to her brother's side and stroked his hair. "What now?" she asked Haddon quietly; Mithos was still too addled with drugs to pay any attention.

Haddon was staring into the middle distance and tapping his fingers on his crossed arms. "There's only one way in and out of here that I know of," he said in lieu of answering her question. "I assume you got in here the same way you left?"

"Yes, but we were chased. There are a lot of guards right outside the door."

"Damn it." Haddon blinked as what she said registered. "We?"

"Yes, there was this man -- " She looked up as she realized that the man hadn't followed her.

"Is he in here too?"

"Y-Yes...."

Haddon grunted softly. "I'll go find him. Lend me your key card, will you?" he added as an afterthought, and held out his hand.

"Of course," she said, not really caring, and placed the card in his outstretched hand. Haddon disappeared, and she returned her attention to Mithos.

---

Kratos punched the wall again. What had he been _thinking?_ He might as well have signed his own execution order. He was inside someplace that was equipped like a prison, and to make matters worse, he had just killed two guards who worked for his employer – an employer, what was more, that was possibly the last in the world who would actually hire him.

Clearly, he _hadn't_ been thinking. Another punch to the wall sent shock reverberating up his arm. Assuming he even got out _alive_, he would have nowhere left to go; he might even have to resort to outright thievery. Though considering the shouts and pounding outside the door, that wouldn't even be an issue --

"You the guy who helped Martel?"

Kratos spun around in a defensive stance, having luckily not let go of his borrowed sword. The man was standing out of reach of his sword, and if he had a ranged weapon of some sort --

The man's hands were raised. "Peace, friend, I'm no threat to you," he was saying in a conciliatory tone of voice. "If anything, I can help you out."

Kratos didn't lower his guard. "How so?"

The man let a smirk slip onto his face. "I've got the floor plans of the building memorized – the holding cells and the surrounding area, anyway."

Kratos's sword slowly dropped to point at the floor. "Who are you?" he asked.

"A prisoner here, just like -- " He paused. "You're human," he said, somewhat accusingly.

"Yes, and?"

The man – who was a half-elf, Kratos suddenly recognized by the points on his ears – stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "I won't ask," he said finally. "Now are we going to get out of here or not?"

Kratos just looked at the man, weighing the possibilities in his mind. There were so many variables and unknowns, and as it was there was little chance of survival, so –

"Fine," he said, and let his sword arm relax.

"We'll have to work quick," said the half-elf, motioning for him to follow him down the rows of cells. "Though you've destroyed the control panel, it shouldn't take them long to get the door open. They only have to –" At that moment there was a hiss, barely perceivable, and a thin, red-hot line began tracing its way down the door. "Shit, they got that faster than I thought! They're cutting the door open," he explained unnecessarily.

Kratos watched him slide the key card through the door control for the cell nearest the door. "So what's your plan?" he asked impatiently as a confused-looking half-elf stumbled out.

The man didn't answer for a while as he opened cell after cell. Finally, as he crossed to the other side of the room, he said quietly, "We're going to use the power of numbers. In the confusion, at least some of us should be able to get out."

Kratos frowned as the other man moved away to open more doors. What he wasn't saying, of course, was that many of these half-elves he was letting out would likely fall by acting as unwitting shields.

There was a resounding clang as the door fell, and a series of metallic thumps as the cabinet was repeatedly rammed. Still, Kratos supposed, he had to make do with what he had. "Anyone with combat experience?" he asked, and a few of the stronger-looking prisoners stepped forward. "Follow me," he said, and fell back into a familiar role once more.

They took up positions on either side of the door, and barely had they got there when the cabinet tipped over and guards poured into the room. Kratos and the others managed to get the drop on the first few to come through the door, but were soon overwhelmed by the next wave. The half-elf from before soon reappeared and joined the fray, having delegated the release of prisoners to someone else. Weapons were snatched from the few who had fallen, and someone had found a few stun batons in the overturned cabinet, but they were still no match for the armor, weaponry, and expertise of the guards.

Kratos noticed, with no small amount of relief, that the guards seemed to only be using stun weapons, though for what reason he didn't know, nor did he have the time to think about it. Even so, bodies still littered the ground, and it was becoming difficult to move. They needed to get out _now_, or they never would.

The half-elf seemed to be thinking the same thing, as with a cry of "Come on!" he began to advance, and following him were not only the few remaining fighters, but also the others who had been hiding in the cells nearby. Among them Kratos saw the woman he had helped carrying a blond boy. That it was the same boy he had seen in the corridor somehow, at this point, didn't surprise him.

Bodies, friend and foe alike, were kicked aside or trampled in the panicked attempt to escape. Upon finally making it out the door, Kratos braced himself for an assault from three directions, but instead found that the only remaining guards were those behind him. The T-intersection that ended in the door to the cells was empty; heavy blast doors had closed off all avenues of escape.

The half-elf man seemed as confidant as before, though, and made towards one of the blast doors. He tapped a code onto a panel on a nearby wall, and the doors opened without protest. "We've got a clear shot, but we need to hurry," he told Kratos briefly before moving on.

Kratos turned. Maybe dozen men ran past him, following in the other half-elf's wake, and ignoring the guards still subduing the other prisoners. Kratos snarled with disgust and slashed at a guard before he could fire his stun gun. "Move!" he told the guard's targets – the half-elf woman and what he supposed was her son, or brother – and hurried down the hall himself. The majority of the prisoners were, by now, a lost cause.

At every door they found, the half-elf was always there first, tapping numbers into a control pad; sometimes the door opened by itself, without any input at all. The halls remained empty, save for the occasional stray guard coming up from behind. These he often had to kill or otherwise disable, as the woman could not run very fast while carrying the boy, and frequently fell behind.

Suddenly they found themselves outside, and Kratos blinked as sunlight replaced the artificial light he had been immersed in. The half-elf started cursing furiously, and soon Kratos saw why – the bridge that had so vexed him before now presented the biggest obstacle to their escape so far.

"Why is the bridge still down?" the half-elf raged. "Varden should have gotten on this by now!"

"Even he couldn't have done that much," one of the other men said.

Behind them there was a soft sigh and then a thump, and then another one. They turned, and two of the men who had escaped thus far were slumped to the ground; an entire company of guards had just emerged from another door. Stun beams stabbed among them, and without a word between them the entire group made a break for the dilapidated bridge.

Their presumed leader leapt up on the one beam still spanning the strait and continued running; the others followed suit. There was a small distressed noise behind them, and Kratos and another man paused to turn. The half-elf woman was kneeling on the ground; the boy in her arms had fallen unconscious. Her face was red, and her breaths were coming in gasps; clearly she could not continue much further.

Kratos and the other man only glanced at each other for a moment before they snatched up the pair to ride on their backs – the boy on Kratos's, the woman on the other's.

There was now a significant gap between them and the rest of the group, made even wider when one man was hit by a stun beam and another simply lost his balance and fell. They could do nothing but continue running, leaving them in the icy waters below. Kratos kept his eyes on the horizon, knowing he couldn't think about the fact that a single misstep could end his life, as well as that of the boy on his back.

Their legs pumped, and their feet pounded; their breath echoed loudly in their ears; the shouts behind them grew ever fainter, and the shots taken at them eventually stopped. Still they ran, their vision narrowing until that slender beam, their feet upon it, and the approaching shore were all they could see.

The sudden feel of asphalt beneath his feet was almost a shock, and Kratos stopped at the end of the bridge, looking back in wonder at the dangerous path they had just trod. There was no time for contemplation though, as a helicopter now rose out of the base. With no breath left to even swear, they simply started running again. Shots peppered the ground around them, throwing up small pebbles that stung their faces; the helicopter was using live ammo this time.

Abruptly the sound of helicopter rotors above them stuttered and failed. Not daring to turn their heads in fear of stumbling and falling, they could only listen to the whine of gears slowing to a halt; there were a few anxious moments of silence measured in heartbeats, and then the helicopter flew noiselessly over their heads, traveling only on inertia, and flipped end over end to finally crash into the sea.

"One of Varden's?" asked one man breathlessly.

The leader shook his head. "No, mana deprivation."

Those were the last words spoken for many miles to come, as they followed backwards the same route Kratos had used to get to Nidhogg in the first place. Their half-elf leader never allowed them to walk, only run; and eventually Kratos could no longer keep up with this pace, though the others somehow had the endurance to keep running. After a certain point, when all scenery blurred before his eyes and the only thing he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears, the only thing that kept him going was sheer stubbornness.

It wasn't until they had reached the mainland and gone some distance off the main road that they were allowed to stop in the shelter of a stand of tall pine trees, and Kratos nigh collapsed to the ground. The others were hardly better off than him, save for those being carried. He saw the woman get up and set about tending the men as best she could, and only then let himself close his eyes.

---

He had fallen unconscious, he thought, as the next thing he was aware of was the other men in the midst of a conversation.

"Who got left behind? I didn't see Raun at all." That was the half-elf man, the one who seemed so sure of himself.

"Raun was killed in a match, remember?" Probably one of the men who had escaped. "Garver was being tested, so there's no way he got out; Harchen, the twins, Ellen, and Liam all fell in the initial battle; Tirran and Erick got stunned outside the base; Finn and Arvel we lost at the bridge; and of course Varden's surely been found by now, leaving just us."

"So eight," said the half-elf. "Less than I had hoped for, but more than I had expected, given the circumstances."

"We can't mount a rescue operation with eight," said another.

"I know, we'll have to get into contact with the Freya cell."

"Hokke's two days from here on foot," the man persisted. "It'll be sooner than that they put a sphere on Varden too."

"I _know_ that." There was a sigh, and then he continued in a softer, if no less frustrated, voice, "If only that damn human hadn't gotten in the way, we could've done this on schedule."

"That 'damn human' is awake," said a loud voice closer to him, and Kratos opened his eyes, no longer having a reason to close them.

The men surrounded him, the half-elf at the forefront – no, they were all half-elves, Kratos corrected himself, finally getting a good look at them. The also all had Ex-spheres on various parts of their bodies, though Kratos supposed they could be normal crystals in some sort of bizarre half-elven fashion statement. At the moment they weren't actively hostile, but that looked to change at a moment's notice. He attempted to stand up, against the protests of his aching muscles.

"How much did he hear?" the leader asked, not deigning to speak to him directly.

"More than enough," said the man beside him.

Kratos grabbed his sword and struggled to his feet, knowing he didn't look the slightest bit threatening, but at the moment not caring. "I ask again, who are you?" he asked, pointing his sword at the ground at the leader's feet.

"My name is Haddon Envoy," a sudden, smug grin, "though I am sure that is not what you wish to know."

Each man stared at the other, searching the other's face for clues. They remained in a stubborn face-off for several moments before one of the men interjected, "Sir," and jerked his head to indicate a direction.

The men backed up from their circle around Kratos, feigning normal activity, and soon the woman and the boy came crashing through the underbrush each carrying a stack of dry wood. "This should be enough for a while," said the woman, before noticing Kratos. "Oh! You're awake!"

"Indeed," was all he found to say before the woman ushered him to a log to sit on. As he watched the others go through the normal, innocent procedures for setting up camp, Haddon even showing the boy something about the fire they were building, he hardly noticed the woman fussing over his minor wounds.

"All done!" the woman announced, patting him on the shoulder, and he realized that some of the aches and pains that had been plaguing him had vanished. He was sure he had strained his right shoulder, but as he stretched his arm, it seemed merely sore.

"What...?" he began.

"Oh!" She seemed more embarrassed than anything else. "I have a bit of talent at healing, so...."

"Martel's great at healing!" the boy put in. He returned to concentrating, and a flick of his fingers sent a spark jumping from the firewood; he grinned triumphantly until the tiny fire quickly burned itself out.

Half-elves, Kratos thought. They're all half-elves. "Your name is Martel," he said instead.

Martel put a hand to her forehead. "Oh! I forgot to introduce myself!" She put her hands together and bowed. "My name is Martel Yggdrasill, and this is my brother Mithos." The boy Mithos gave a shy little wave.

"Kratos," he said in return, not offering his last name. Haddon looked up suspiciously anyway, grinned as if confirming something long suspected, then returned to what he was doing.

Something seemed a bit incongruous about Martel, and he studied her for a few moments before he figured out what it was. "How did you get out of your shackles?"

She nodded at one of the men. "Mr. Carrack knows a trick to get out of them," she said, no small amount of admiration in her voice.

"Does he," was all he said, and quietly wondered just how often he had used that skill of his.

"All right, everyone, listen up," said Haddon, standing in front of the small fire that was now burning steadily. "We can't continue like this for long. We need supplies, and the closest city is Hokke." He looked at Martel and Mithos. "Normally I would advise you to stay away from civilization for a while, but Hokke is big enough that you can lose yourself in it, for a day or two at least. After that, you have two choices." He held up a finger. "One, we can offer you some limited protection, though this in itself has its own dangers. Two," he raised another finger, "you can try your luck on the road. There is a port to the east where I know someone who would be willing to take you to Sylvarant."

At this, the siblings looked at each other in awe, mouthing "Sylvarant" to each other. Mithos opened his mouth, an answer already on his lips, but Haddon held up a hand. "Don't answer yet, I want you to see Hokke before you make your decision." He grinned, now looking at Kratos directly. "Either way, we still have two days together. Isn't that right, Kratos?" Here a special emphasis was placed on his name.

Kratos didn't rise to the bait, too distracted by wondering exactly who he had just fallen in with. Though he knew it was just a trick of the light, when backlit by a flickering fire and framed by the growing dark, Haddon looked disconcertingly demonic.


	5. Strides

A/N: Edited 2/26/09

Chapter Five:

Strides

Kratos was the only one among them with a real weapon, the others limited to stun weapons pulled from the hands of fallen guards; unfortunately he lacked a sheath, and evidently was also in the habit of using a shield, prompting Martel to carve a makeshift version of each. He didn't reject the gift, but looked highly uncomfortable wearing a sheath attached to a belt of vine.

His presence among them was certainly a great boon, as evidenced by his performance when various creatures chanced upon their group. On every such occasion Mithos always found himself watching the man. Though Haddon and his men seemed fairly proficient at combat, Kratos outclassed them all. His movements were efficient and fluid, even Mithos could tell, and he wondered if he could ever learn to move like that.

Aside from those rare encounters, walking was pleasant enough; though they avoided the roads, the forest was relatively clear of the tangle of underbrush Mithos was so used to in the forests of Heimdall, leaving the pine needle-strewn ground fairly easy to walk on. As the ground grew flatter and the trees thinner, Haddon and his men in turn grew more nervous, constantly scanning the horizon for any threat. Martel and Mithos remained unaffected, as they were rather more interested in the snow-covered panorama they now found before them. Mithos had never seen snow before – or at least he thought he hadn't – and despite the inadequacy of his clothes for the weather, he was rather excited at his first glimpse. However as the day dragged on, he became less interested in the snow than in the dark smudge on the plain that Haddon and Kratos called Hokke.

"How much farther?" he asked again, clutching at his shivering arms. He knew he sounded petulant and childish, but self-preservation instincts overruled any sense of decorum he had.

"We should get there early to mid afternoon tomorrow," Haddon replied, only half listening to the question. He walked in the center of the group and carried a small ball of fire in the palm of his hand in an attempt to keep everyone warm; clearly maintaining the fire at the proper size was mentally taxing. Daved, the only other fire-user among them, couldn't even spare enough concentration for speaking.

"First thing I'm going to do is eat something hot," Mithos said, groaning in hunger at the mere thought of it. "Mm...shepherd's pie."

"Steak, real steak, and mashed potatoes," put in one of the others.

"Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches."

"Pumpkin pie!"

"Spaghetti and meatballs!"

As the others chimed in, Mithos tugged on his sister's hand, who was staring off into space. Whatever she was thinking about seemed to be distressing her. "What would you like to eat, Martel?"

"Hmm?" She turned to him, a bit startled, and then smiled a little too cheerfully. "A strawberry milkshake."

Mithos, and some of the others who had heard, stared incredulously. "But it's so cold out!" said Mithos.

"But I'll be inside while I'm drinking it," she explained. A mischievous look entered her eye, and she grabbed Mithos around the waist and nuzzled the side of his face. "And I'll have you to keep me warm, won't I?"

Mithos blushed and shouted for Martel to let go, to the others' amusement. One shook his head and called out to Kratos, who had been striding silently at the front of the group for some time now. "Hey Kratos! What would you like to eat?" When the man didn't answer, he rolled his eyes and added derisively, "Or does the great swordsman not get hungry?"

"This conversation isn't helping any," Kratos snapped, finally breaking his silence.

Haddon shot a quick glare his way. "Neither is your attitude." At that he seemed to have exhausted all the concentration he could spare, and directed his attention back to his spell.

Mithos looked at Kratos, who had fallen silent again, though he was still glowering. Kratos was neither polite nor talkative, and neither trait had really endeared Mithos to him. But he knew he had a biased view of humans, given his experiences thus far, and so was determined to give Kratos more chances than the man probably deserved.

He jogged from his position by Martel's side to walk by Kratos. As he tried to think up something to say, he studied the man – the way he walked, how his hand always rested on the hilt of his sword, the round ear poking out from a mop of messy hair. He had been staring a bit too long, he realized, as the man glanced his way and said flatly, "Do you need something?"

Though his voice sounded impatient to Mithos's ears, he forged ahead. "I was just wondering. You're human, right?" The man didn't answer, it being the obvious question that it was, so Mithos barreled ahead, before he could become too embarrassed. What was he asking again? Oh, right -- "Then what's it like, not being able to use magic?" He winced. That hadn't come out well.

Kratos only increased his pace, making it difficult for Mithos to keep up. "I have no patience for ridiculous questions," was all he said before he left Mithos standing in his snowy footprints.

Mithos fell back to Martel's side. "Guess that was kind of a stupid question," he said, half to himself.

"I think he's in a bad mood," Martel told him softly, probably hoping that Kratos wouldn't overhear. "Just give it time."

"Why should he be in a bad mood? Certainly he must be warmer than I am," Mithos said, not bothering to lower his voice. Despite his words, he felt no real bitterness, and that could be heard in his voice. If he was honest with himself, he thought of Kratos as a challenge, and his less-than-civil responses only goaded him on.

Anything, really, to distract him from that thing on his chest.

His hand rose, almost of its own accord, to claw at the crystal, but he managed to suppress the impulse and merely clutched at it instead through his poncho. The material chafed at his wounds, which were scabbing over now, that he had inflicted on himself the night before in his frenzy to rip the thing off his chest. At least the pain was real, unlike the gaping void that was the crystal. It had achieved an importance in his mind that couldn't be reconciled with its small size. He felt it sucking away at him, always, though at what he didn't know – his warmth, his strength, his soul.... He imagined he felt warmth from it sometimes, but it could only be a phantom.

He felt the a hand closing around his own, another layer of warmth over the emptiness, and Martel drew their hands to hang between them with a worried smile. That, too, was real.

"Ex-spheres," he said quietly, recalling the name Kratos had given them. "Are they supposed to hurt this much?"

Martel squeezed his hand a bit too hard. "It hurts you?"

"No, not exactly...." Mithos laughed nervously. "It just...feels really weird, you know? Like the walls in that prison, only more...pointed?" He trailed off, not really sure how to express himself.

One of the other men nodded, seemingly understanding him anyway. "It does that at first," said – Thorton? Thornton? he couldn't remember – who rubbed a hand against his own thoughtfully. "Well, it always does it, I guess, but you get used to it. And it gives you energy, as well."

"Energy?" Martel repeated. "Sometimes I feel like something's trickling from it, but...."

"That's how it starts. Eventually you'll be able to – well, hang on...." He looked around, then nodded as he seemingly found what he was seeking. He turned back to them with a grin on his face. "Watch this."

He dashed off towards a lone, half-dead tree. Though the snow should have impeded him somewhat, he was still surprisingly fast. A few meters from the tree, he took a terrific flying leap, and somehow, a moment later, he was standing triumphantly on one of the low-hanging branches a few feet above their heads.

Mithos stood open-mouthed, his mind futilely trying to process what it knew couldn't be true. "How did you do that?" he finally asked, his mouth overriding his brain.

The man held up his fist, where his Ex-sphere was embedded, as his only explanation. "That's amazing!" exclaimed Martel.

"Quit showing off, Thornsten," Haddon shouted absently, and the other men laughed, one twirling his stun baton extravagantly.

Thornsten rolled his eyes and jumped to the ground with as much ease as he had left it. "Those guys – Nidhogg – they're fools," he said darkly, his cheer having left him. "They thought they were experimenting on us, but they were just empowering us."

Ahead of them, Mithos thought he saw Kratos look up sharply at this, but any expression on his face was hidden by his hair.

---

Dinner that night was paltry, consisting only of a few rabbits that Carrack managed to catch. Mithos, despite his disgust at seeing the rabbits being skinned, ate his share like a starving man – which he very nearly was. A handful of berries was not, as he had found out, a filling breakfast.

The others ate with the same fervor, and so it was that their small group remained silent throughout the meal, only beginning to talk once their small portions had disappeared. As the shadows lengthened, the topic of conversation turned from their plans for the next day – of which they had admittedly few – to each other.

"So where are you two from?" Haddon asked, motioning to the Yggdrasill siblings. He was sitting cross-legged near the fire, closer than anyone else dared, and prodded it occasionally with a stick. His eyes were alert, but his hunched posture betrayed his weariness.

Mithos glanced sideways at Martel, but she was gazing sadly into the fire. When it didn't seem likely she would reply, he put his hands on his knees and drew in a breath. "I...guess you could say we're from Heimdall. They normally don't let half-elves live there, but our father's friend was letting us stay with him."

Haddon looked between the two. "You speak in the past tense," he said. "Nidhogg would never pick up half-elves directly from Heimdall, even they aren't that brazen."

Mithos caught Haddon's meaning, and his face screwed up in an emotion he couldn't identify. "We had to leave," he said finally when his control reasserted itself.

Haddon glanced at him knowingly then nodded. "I was a farm boy myself," he said, mercifully changing the subject. He leaned back to rest his weight on the palms of his hands. "Grew up out in the boondocks. The closest city was Kusba, and that can hardly even be considered a city."

"Kusba," Mithos repeated, trying to remember his geography lessons. "That's near the Gaoracchia Forest, right?"

Haddon nodded. "That it is. That I'm this far north at all is just a trick of fate."

"Fate, huh." Mithos fell into silence, brooding.

Haddon shook his head when the boy didn't say anything more. "Yeah, my parents and I lived a long way from anything you could call civilization," he continued, though for whose benefit Mithos wasn't sure – Martel was no longer listening, Haddon's friends seemed to know this story already, and Kratos clearly didn't care. "I hated it at the time, but I realized later that it gave me a great deal more freedom than if I had grown up in the city."

Mithos looked up quizzically. "Freedom?"

Haddon studied him for a long moment. "I guess you wouldn't know, would you, if you lived in Heimdall," he said. "Though you must have had some idea." He drew himself up, as if in preparation for a long tale. "Most cities are highly segregated. A lot of places have restricted areas where half-elves aren't allowed, unless they work for the humans there. Instead, they've got to live in designated 'racial preservation areas.'" He snorted in disgust. "Another word for ghettos, really. Half-elves aren't even allowed to leave the city to make their living elsewhere. For a lot of people, there's no escape."

The flames from the campfire were hot on his skin, but his blood was icy. "And the whole world is like this?" Mithos asked bleakly.

A warning look passed from a suddenly alert Martel to Haddon without Mithos's notice. "Not everywhere," said Haddon with a hasty shake of his head. "Small towns don't have the resources for that kind of bureaucracy, so the discrimination is more de facto than de jure. And then there's Hokke."

The sudden change in his tone of voice made everyone look up. Though Thornsten rolled his eyes when he realized what Haddon was talking about, the other half-elves looked just as proud as Haddon. "Hokke's made great strides in establishing racial equality," said Haddon over Thornsten's groans. "Provided they have the money to do so, half-elves may live right next door to humans. There are no legal statutes in place barring half-elves from any job or government office, though of course this is left up the discretion of employers, leaving a lot of leeway for discriminatory hiring practices. Interracial marriage is not forbidden by law, though it is still strongly frowned upon. While there are no areas of the city forbidden to half-elves, most buildings – restaurants, schools, restrooms, and so on – are segregated into human and half-elf sections, and some do not allow half-elves at all. While there's still a long way to go, there's undeniably been progress."

As his speech ended, several of the other half-elves began clapping, and Thornsten groaned again. "You should just write a brochure for Hokke, boss," he said, flopping onto the ground. "Maybe then you'd stop spouting that out at every damn opportunity."

Haddon's proud smile widened into a mischievous grin. "I shall rely on you to spread them around then," he said. "Would you rather hand them out at Wepp Station, or slip them under doors? Perhaps a costume will be helpful...."

"You are a cruel and unusual man, boss," was all Thornsten said before he was drowned out by laughter.

Mithos chuckled a bit, but in his mood the humor was lost on him. He leaned back to look at the sky. The stars had come out, and he searched the tiny pinpricks for the constellations he knew. He had to crane his neck, but they were there, though closer to the horizon than he was used to.

The Horse, galloping along the Diamond Road...Undine and the Heavenly Sword...the Seven Sisters...and high above his head, Celsius with her long finger pointing northward.

"The sky is beautiful tonight," said Martel softly, startling him. He turned, but she was looking skyward.

"Yeah, if you can stand the cold," Mithos murmured, but he only half meant it. The sky was particularly clear, the snow and cold lending a hard edge to the air. It was enough of a difference from the usual humid haze over Heimdall to be striking. The stars themselves, though, never changed. That at least was a comfort.

"It's strange to think that our ancestors came from up there," Martel mused by his ear. "On our father's side, anyway."

"Elves traveling through space on a comet...it's too much like a fairy tale to believe," said Mithos. "Where'd mother's ancestors come from, then?"

Martel grinned at him. "A small town in Tethe'alla."

Mithos rolled his eyes as Martel giggled. "You know what I mean."

"Maybe humans were the original occupants of the planet," said one of the others, picking up on their conversation.

"Nah, that's protozoans," said another. "And anyway, why would they look almost exactly like elves?"

"Maybe they're a related species that branched off later?"

"That's ridiculous. What kind of evolutionary advantage could they possibly derive from having only a tenth of the lifespan and being magically deaf and dumb?"

Kratos had been silent for a long while, but now made his presence known by suddenly standing up and stalking away. The others followed him with their eyes. Someone snickered.

A few moments later Daved appeared from Kratos's direction. "Said he'd take over the watch early," he said shrugging. "So what's for breakfast?"

"You thinking about that already?" said one of the others, but Mithos had gotten up and headed after the human, and the rest of the conversation faded from his ears.

The snow crunched beneath his feet, and he shivered. The light from the fire receded, leaving only shadows against the sky. Ahead of him he saw the outline of Kratos perched on a rock. By the set of his shoulders and the fingers tapping on the hilt of his sword, Mithos supposed he was tense, though why he couldn't fathom.

He was standing before him now, though the man didn't deign to look at him. He shifted his weight from one foot the other, waiting for the man to acknowledge his presence; but as he stood, he realized that he wasn't going to.

Mithos blew air out of his nostrils loudly. "What's your problem?" he asked hotly. He was aware he could have phrased the question more diplomatically, but Kratos had worn his patience thin.

Kratos glanced up briefly before returning to his vigil. "I wasn't aware I had one."

"What! Then what do you call that attitude of yours?" At Kratos's silence he elaborated. "You're always so standoffish, for no good reason at all. What have Haddon and the others ever done to you?"

Kratos crossed his arms and hummed noncommittally. "Nothing, yet."

Mithos threw up his hands. "And what's that supposed to mean? Why are you so suspicious?" A thought occurred to him, and he narrowed his eyes. "Is it because we're half-elves?"

In the half-light he could see his eyes widening fractionally. That stupefied expression was the strongest emotion he had seen on his face yet, save anger. Mithos sighed and relented. "Then why are you so angry all the time?" he asked, drained.

Kratos just grunted and looked off to one side. "It's not something you would understand."

Mithos felt his hackles rising again, but he forced them down. "Try me."

Kratos didn't look away from whatever phantom he was glaring at. Mithos scowled and stomped his feet. This parody of a conversation was not worth the price he paid for being so far from the campfire. Even as he turned to go back, the man's voice stopped him. "You are an exile?"

He had been listening to that conversation? That stoic figure, staring blankly into the night.... "I...yes, why?"

"I am an exile as well." He paused and licked his lips before continuing haltingly. "And by my actions yesterday I have only further exiled myself."

Mithos let out a long breath. "Then...you have nowhere left to go?"

Kratos nodded, a sudden, jerky movement.

The next few moments passed in silence, Kratos staring at the ground, and Mithos at Kratos. Kratos was jerked from his reverie when Mithos sat down next to him.

"Thank you," Mithos told him quietly. He watched his own hands sitting like two birds in his lap. "For rescuing us."

He heard nothing but Kratos drawing breath beside him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see him staring at him. "I – I mean, if you risked that much, for us.... Or maybe not us personally, but still.... That was...I mean...." Mithos shut his mouth, and the silence filled his ears. He twitched one finger, then another. Now his voice came out very small. "Why did you do it?"

He heard a rustle of clothing as Kratos shifted. After a few moments Kratos sighed, and spoke almost too quietly for Mithos to hear. "I don't know."

Mithos looked up. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark, Kratos looked very troubled. "All I knew that there was something...strange going on, at Nidhogg. When I first saw you in the hallway –"

"You saw me before?" Mithos interjected, not recalling this incident.

Kratos gave him an appraising look. "I imagine you were drugged at the time," he said after a moment. "I am not surprised that you do not remember." He shook his head and closed his eyes. "You were not wearing your poncho – I suppose they removed it – leaving your Ex-sphere exposed. I knew what they were by then, and seeing one on a boy your age first aroused my suspicions. Then I saw your sister."

At this Kratos stopped talking suddenly. Mithos felt his heart clench in his chest, but he didn't press the normally reticent man in fear that he would stop altogether.

"She was clearly a noncombatant," said Kratos finally, his words coming slowly. "As far as I knew, Ex-spheres were to be used for combat only. Seeing her with one made me suspect something not entirely legal was going on."

Mithos frowned. Kratos was hedging, and they both knew it. "You don't think that was legal?" he asked instead.

Kratos looked at him sharply. "No matter what other mistreatment you may have suffered, neither country would ever allow that sort of operation."

"And Heimdall?"

He paused before answering. "I do not know the laws of Heimdall, so I cannot say."

Mithos hissed a curse. "I can't _believe_ them...." He drew his legs up to rest his head on his knees. "I just _can't_...."

Neither said anything for a while, each focused on his own private turmoil. Finally Mithos stood up. "They wouldn't," he said adamantly. "If they knew, they would have stopped it."

Kratos opened his mouth, but seemed to reconsider whatever he had been planning on saying. Instead he just shook his head and looked away.

Mithos was no longer paying attention to his companion. A plan was forming in his mind – deceptively simple, but it was a starting place. "I'm going to go tell Martel," he said aloud. He hopped off the rock, and was about to head back when something occurred to him. He turned back to Kratos. "Oh, yeah – what's you're favorite food?"

He was startled to hear a chuckle. "Roast beef," he said without an ounce of hesitation.

Though he was taken aback by the man's laugh – he _did_ have emotions other than anger! – he quickly regrouped, and grinned. "Great! I'll make some for you when we get back to Hokke!" With that he ran off, leaving a call of "Good night Kratos!" behind him.

Back at camp, everyone save Haddon had already turned in for the night, and he tried to quiet his footsteps. "Was I really with Kratos for that long?" he asked in a whisper.

Haddon shook his head. "No, we're just all tired." He looked ready to fall asleep on his feet, but he remained steadfastly upright, pacing back and forth in front of the fire.

Mithos's brow furrowed in worry. "Yeah, you really look it. Are you okay?"

He shushed Mithos's objections with one hand. "I just need to think a bit. Get some sleep," he said. "We're going to need it for tomorrow."

"Yeah, we are." He frowned at him, but Haddon had already turned to prod the fire again.

Mithos shook his head. He looked around for Martel, and found her sleeping shape on the ground. She was curled up on one side, and her face was worried even in sleep. He sat down next to her, but didn't dare touch her for fear of waking her up.

He lay down next to her and tried to ignore the rocks that dug into his back and the dirt that would surely cover his skin and clothes the next day. His excitement at his new plan had already ebbed, and it was a deep weariness that coursed through him now. He put one hand over Martel's and tried to sleep.

The last thing he remembered seeing before sleep took him was Haddon staring pensively in Kratos's direction, the fire long forgotten.


	6. Waste

A/N: A shorter-than-normal chapter to tide you over. It was getting longer than I had planned (that's been happening a lot lately) so I figured this was as good a place to cut it off as any. The next chapter (formerly the rest of this one) should be up shortly.

Chapter Six:

Waste

The next day dragged on. They traveled in silence, their previous enthusiasm at escaping having evaporated, to be replaced by a bone-deep weariness. Hunger, the cold, the physical exertion, and in Haddon and Daved's case, overuse of mana – all had taken their toll on them.

Kratos himself was no stranger to exhaustion, but never in this climate. His feet were soaked from trudging through snowdrifts, and he had lost feeling in his toes hours ago. It was becoming difficult to grip his sword properly.

Though the threat of monsters attacking while he was in this incapacitated state was considerable, what truly worried him was Mithos. Out of all of them, the boy was least equipped to deal with the weather, and the the sudden dip the temperature had taken that day affected him the most. None of them had any clothes they could remove and lend to him, so to protect his bare arms he had taken to wearing his poncho sideways, a sight that in any other circumstance might have been comical.

He was hardly alone in his worries. Martel of course hovered at Mithos's side, every now and then simply hugging the boy to share warmth. Haddon and Daved dredged up the last of their mana, but could only manage a pitiful candle flame for a few seconds before it sputtered out. One man bluntly offered the shirt off his back, which Mithos refused equally bluntly.

So preoccupied were they with the boy that it came as a surprise when another of their number collapsed in the snow behind them. Martel was already fussing at his side before he had fully processed what had happened; Haddon and the others soon followed.

The man was shivering violently, and looked slightly dazed. He had been stumbling for a while, now that it occurred to him to remember; but everyone was so tired by this point he had thought nothing of it. Kratos thought that perhaps he should have learned the man's name.

"Dammit, his clothes are soaked through now," said Carrack, weakly drawing the man up in his arms.

The loud one – Thornsten, Kratos thought his name was – was already tugging at his shirt. "Here, look, we'll switch clothes –"

"What, so you can get hypothermia too?"

"I've probably already _got_ hypothermia –"

"Stop being –"

"Quit, you're going to tear it –"

Haddon meanwhile was keeping a cool head. "Is there anything you can do?" he asked Martel, who was wringing her hands.

Martel bit her lip. "I can only treat wounds, not hypothermia."

Haddon suddenly looked very old then, Kratos thought. He moved aside wordlessly as Carrack picked up the man to carry him somewhere dry.

Kratos listened to the men offer conflicting advice with only half an ear. Mithos was tugging at Martel's arm, who just shook her head. Haddon was staring off toward Hokke. The wind picked up, and shifted the snow on the hills like sand in the desert.

He grimaced as the wind bit at him. He had been somewhat perversely grateful for the man's collapse, providing as it did even a short break; but they needed to move on. The argument was growing heated, and they were making no progress – of any sort.

"I have a solution," he said, and suddenly he had everyone's attention. He glared at the ground rather than look at their eyes. "We leave him here."

There was an immediate outcry, as he had expected. "We can't do that!" and "You heartless bastard!" and, though he wished he could close his ears to it, a pitiful "I don't want to die!" – he ignored them all. Someone had to speak sense around here, and if that made him the villain, so be it.

"If we stand around dithering much longer, we're all going to freeze to death," he continued over their objections. "Even if we could carry him to Hokke, he would likely be dead by the time we got there."

The only response was silence, save for the freezing man's choked sobs. They were all pale and shivering, their breath fogging the air. They were really a miserable lot.

Finally Haddon turned to face them again. Everyone's eyes followed him as he heaved himself up to sit on the flat outcrop of rock on which the man now lay. He clasped his hands between his own. "You're a brave man," he began.

"Boss, you can't be serious," Thornsten said, taking a weak step forward.

"We'll come back the first chance we get," he continued as if he hadn't heard. The other man was staring blankly at the sky. "If you have anything you want us to tell Lona –"

Thornsten took another step. "Haddon, stop it. We're going to get him out of here."

Haddon looked up sharply. "And how do you propose we do that?

"I don't know!"

"Then keep your opinions to yourself!"

"_Boss_ –"

"That's an order!"

There was a sudden crackling noise, and a thump. A fireball was sizzling a path above their heads, until it finally hung in the air for a moment high above before fizzling out.

Martel was already kneeling by a lump that lay in the snow – Daved, Kratos realized. "They should be able to see that from Hokke," the half-elf managed before he passed out.

Martel pressed two shaking fingers to his neck, then placed one hand on his forehead."He's alive, but he's almost used up the last of his mana," she said. She sounded like she was trying not to cry.

"Do you know how to perform a mana transfusion?" Carrack asked by her side.

She shook her head and stood up. She drew a few shuddering breaths, then covered her face with her hands and backed away. Mithos hastily brushed away the snow that had stuck to her dress.

Carrack consulted quietly with Haddon while the others carried Daved to lay by his comrade. "Help might be coming now," Thornsten interjected unhelpfully. Kratos scoffed, but Haddon nodded wearily.

"We wait here," he said, and the others leaned their weight against the rock in relief.

Kratos was having trouble resisting the urge to shout. "We need to keep moving," he protested.

"And how many of us _can't_ move?" Haddon countered without looking at him.

"Fewer than those who can! But if you all want to throw your lives away, then I will not stop you." Kratos turned away. They already ignored his advice and his very presence; surely his absence would change nothing. He forced his stiff limbs into motion and began to walk away.

He had only taken a few steps before Thornsten started shouting. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Hokke," Kratos shouted back. His feet took him northeast to intercept the main road – at this point detection was not his primary concern.

Another shout rang out behind him. "You're just going to abandon us here?" The boy, Mithos.

Kratos almost stopped. Almost. He had no obligation to these people, he reminded himself. "I cannot save you if you refuse to save yourselves," was all he said before he left them to their fates.

--

Martel had watched the man's retreating back with a sense of betrayal. She knew that he was merely being sensible, that he was a good man at heart, but she couldn't help but take it personally, and she hated herself for it.

Now she could only recall it numbly. Everything was numb now; she could no longer feel the clothes against her skin, or Mithos's hand in hers. They were huddled together, all of them, surrounding Daved and Ulrick and shielding them from the bitter wind. None of them spoke or even looked at each other.

She was trying to think, but her thoughts kept fluttering away on the wind. Ulrick had stopped shivering, what did that mean? She didn't know. Perhaps she should have studied how to treat hypothermia. But Heimdall was so warm...

Mithos shook her awake, and for a moment she wondered why. She patted his hand absently. He was a good boy.

Daved had stopped breathing. What did that mean?

--

She only heard the shout the second time, the repeated words finally drawing her attention. She looked up. A man was running through the snow towards them, a large canvas bag hanging from one shoulder. She squinted at him before she processed the implications.

Mithos was already stumbling to his side, and the man caught him in two big hands. They spoke briefly, words Martel didn't catch. The man glanced at them, shouted "I'll be right back," and ran back in the direction of the road, Mithos slung over his back.

The others were moving now, lurching to their feet. The man soon returned, now followed by another, and they lifted Ulrick and Daved across their respective shoulders in a fireman's carry before jogging back in the direction they had come. The others followed sluggishly in their wake.

Their destination was a truck parked on the side of the main road, to the east of their impromptu campsite. Daved was being bundled into the cab, now outfitted with a thermal blanket; Ulrick, also swaddled in a blanket, was being laid out in the back. Without much prompting they piled into the back, and before they had even sat down the truck started moving.

One of their rescuers had remained in the back, and carefully started stripping Ulrick of his wet clothes. "There's more blankets in the bag, and some hot water bottles too," he told them, though unnecessarily, as Thornsten had already started rummaging through it.

Blankets were passed out, and hot water bottles distributed; Ulrick was divested of his clothes and wrapped up tight; everyone leaned against each other and shivered.

This far out the road wasn't well-upkept, and the numerous potholes caused by expanding ice made for a bumpy ride. The truck passed over a particularly large pothole, and Daved's head lolled to the side in his seat in the front. The driver was yelling something at a two-way radio that dispensed more static than advice. Haddon was talking quietly with the other man who had rescued them, his usual emphatic gestures conspicuously absent. It was only when Martel started wondering about the wind chill factor that she had the presence of mind to wonder about the other lump that lay next to Ulrick.

Mithos was thinking the same thing. "Is that...?" He crawled over to the lump and tugged at the blanket covering it. The cloth fell away, revealing a pale face and auburn hair.

"Kratos!" Martel crawled to his side, despite their rescuer's protestations. He was breathing shallowly; his eyes fluttered, but didn't open. She saw now that the blanket was wet with blood.

"What the hell happened to him?" asked Thornsten, not moving from where he sat.

"We found him near dead, east of where we found you," the man answered. "He managed to point us towards you before he passed out."

Carrack frowned, somewhat blearily. "East? He was heading north."

"How'd he get so hurt?" Mithos put in. "Is he going to be okay?"

Martel shakily held out her hands over Kratos, drawing on her reserves of mana; but the man grabbed her hands before she could try to heal him. "Hey lady, quit it – you've got to save your strength." He pressed firmly on her shoulders, and reluctantly she sat down again. "I've healed him somewhat already, he'll make it to Hokke. Anyway," he looked back at Mithos, "To answer your question, it probably had something to do with the ice spider we found dead next to him."

"An ice spider?" Mithos looked back at Kratos's pathetic form. "But he had no problems with those before..."

The man sighed in exasperation. "If he was out here as long as you were, he would have been just as close to freezing to death as the rest of you. I'm surprised he could even move!"

Thornsten closed his mouth, whatever sarcastic remark that had been about to leave his mouth evidently rethought. "That still doesn't explain what he was doing east of us," Carrack persisted in his usual calm manner.

The man shrugged. "I can't tell you that, only he can."

The road rolled beneath them as they neared Hokke. They could see the individual buildings now, low structures built to conserve heat. The drab architecture had nothing to recommend it. Martel instead gazed at Kratos pensively. If it weren't for his ragged breathing, she would have thought him dead; as it was, he looked to still be on the brink of death. She wished she could reach out, help him somehow; instead she put her arm around Mithos and drew the blankets more securely around them.


	7. Tangled

A/N: Sorry for the delay guys :( More notes to follow after the story.

Chapter 7:

Tangled

Hokke was a city in which more of the buildings were boarded up than actually inhabited; all signs pointed to a once-thriving industrial town hit hard by recession. Trashcans often remained overflowing; in some areas men with beards and woolen caps pushed shopping carts around aimlessly; the graffiti wasn't even particularly interesting. Still, Martel thought, it wasn't all bad. Some businessman with too much money on his hands had decided to renovate one of the sections of the inner city, and the strip was now pleasant to walk along and window-shop.

Martel and Mithos had recovered and been released from the infirmary earlier than the others, owing to – the nurse had said – their being a woman and a child. She hadn't had time to ask what was meant by that, as they had been quickly bustled out the door to get some "fresh air."

Even if the air itself wasn't particularly fresh, she did find the walk refreshing. They were bundled up perhaps in more layers than they might have worn otherwise, but their brush with death had left her cautious. Mithos had looked skeptically at the bright orange scarf he had been given by the nurse, but had said nothing.

Now they strolled along the sidewalk, looking at the bright things in the windows they couldn't possibly afford. Martel oohed and ahhed over a cute coat, and Mithos positively salivated over an expensive telescope. The cheerful atmosphere, she thought, was almost enough to distract her from the way the humans crossed the street rather than pass by them.

"Can we go in here?" asked Mithos. He was pointing at the entrance to a bookstore; a small sign by the door advertised its cafe. She knew they couldn't afford to actually buy anything, but those happy eyes and cheeks red with the cold won her over. She nodded, and Mithos smiled.

The door tinkled, and they shed their gloves. The shelves loomed narrowly, but the ceiling was high enough that the room didn't feel crowded. Instead it was a cozy atmosphere that greeted them, created in part by the smell of pastries wafting from their right. Martel drifted almost unconsciously in that direction. "Shall we get something?"

"Don't bother. They won't serve half-elves," said a voice beside her, and she looked up to find that a half-elf man had appeared at her side.

"Ah." Martel smiled sadly, remembering what Haddon had told them earlier. She turned back to Mithos with false cheer. "Well, we can't afford to buy anything anyway," she told him.

Mithos shook his head. "We've got to get food somewhere," he said, and Martel cocked her head in confusion. The infirmary had provided them with breakfast only two hours ago.

Mithos had turned to the other half-elf. "Is there someplace around here that _does_ serve half-elves?"

The man arched an elegant blue eyebrow. "Not in this part of the city, I would imagine."

"Oh, you're not from around here?" Martel asked.

He shook his head. "Just passing through." He crossed his arms somewhat irritably. "Though I don't know when I'll be able to leave, they've grounded all civilian flights. Not surprising, with the way they've been dropping out of the sky lately."

"Dropping out of the sky?" Martel repeated, dumbfounded. "Have they been shot at?"

He laughed, ignoring the dirty look a bookstore employee was shooting him. "Nothing so exciting. It's more a matter of the engines running out of mana, especially so far from the Tree."

"But the boats are still running?" Mithos asked.

"As far as I know."

"Good." Mithos turned back to his confused sister. "After this can we go find a grocery store? Haddon lent me some money, so I could make Kratos the roast beef I promised him."

She heard a small intake of breath from the man beside her, and realized that she might be taking up the half-elf's time. "I'm sorry for keeping you, thank you for your –" She turned, but the man had disappeared. "...help. That's strange, where did he go?"

Mithos shrugged. "I dunno, he suddenly got a weird look on his face and ran out the door."

Martel didn't recall hearing the door chime. "I hope he's all right." The employee was making shooing motions at them now, and they retreated into the bestsellers aisle. Martel lowered her voice to avoid his future ire. "Anyway, of course we can go to a grocery store, we still need to repay him after what he did for us."

"And maybe we can get an explanation out of him as well." Mithos grinned, and Martel sighed.

"He's still recovering, we shouldn't be bother him."

"What better time to bother him? He's a captive audience!" Mithos giggled a little at his sister's disapproving look. "Don't worry, I won't be too hard on him." His expression grew more serious. "And...there's something I want to talk to you about."

His tone of voice made her heart sink. "What about?" she asked, trying to feign cheerfulness.

Mithos absentmindedly replaced a thriller novel that had been left out by a previous customer. "It's about Nidhogg," he said slowly. Martel waited as he gathered his thoughts. He ran his finger along the spines of the books thoughtfully. "Kratos said...that there's no way what they're doing is legal."

Martel bit her lip. Involuntarily she recalled those rows of wan faces trapped behind glass, those bony limbs and hopeless eyes staring blankly. "I...guess it wouldn't be."

"So...!" Mithos caught himself and lowered his voice again. "We can't...barge in and rescue them, not personally. But if we let people know what's going on, they can shut Nidhogg down!"

Martel nodded slowly in realization. "And if the main weapon manufacturer is put out of business..."

"Then we can stop the war!" he finished for her.

"That's wonderful –" The hope that had bloomed within her withered as something occurred to her. "Mithos, Nidhogg technically is a Heimdall company, we'd have to –"

"– Go back to Heimdall, I know." Mithos nodded firmly. "Even if we're not welcome there, we can still make them listen to us."

Martel smiled weakly. She hadn't told Mithos yet, but deep in her heart she harbored a desire to take Haddon up on his offer – to make a new start here in Hokke. Being among so many half-elves brought with it a feeling of acceptance that she had never felt in Heimdall, surrounding by the disapproving stares of the elves. The green canopy and sweet rains of Heimdall held many memories, some good, but many more she didn't want to relive.

"Martel?" Mithos was looking at her hopefully. One look of those big blue eyes, and she held back a sigh as she realized, no, she really couldn't refuse Mithos anything.

"Of course," she said, and felt horrible for even thinking of refusing him. Of course they had to do this; not to would be abandoning all those half-elves they had left back at the Nidhogg facility; not to would be abandoning the world to war, when they had a chance to change things. Unthinkable, unpardonable.

"Great! We can work out the details when we get back, all right?" He grinned, and she watched him wander into the history section. Yet it was also unthinkable to put him in danger like that. The road to Heimdall was a long and hard one. They both knew this, they had trekked it before. And then, like now, they had returned with...

She raised a hand to her ear. First a tracking chip, now a dwarf sphere. The thought of it made her feel disgusting, though Mithos was holding up remarkably well. Her hand trailed down to her collarbone, but instead of the comforting weight of her father's necklace there was only the dwarf sphere. She could feel its sickly presence against her skin, could feel its icy tendrils grasping at her very soul. She jerked her hand away and fisted it in her dress instead.

She was neither human nor elf; and with these..._things_ that had been put on her, she didn't even feel like a half-elf anymore.

She drew in a deep breath and tried not to cry.

--

Yuan scowled. After some discreet inquiry, a tip from a friendly half-elf had led him to this run-down brick building. That his target wasn't coalescing in a hospital didn't surprise him; hospital expenses could get exorbitant when one was on a shoestring budget, as he knew well, and if tended by half-elf healers – which he suspected he was – the quality was often the same.

What he hadn't expected was the security. On its own the building was nondescript, which was a sort of defense in itself; but the half-elves lounging in front of the doors were far more alert than their postures suggested. Some careful reconnaissance had revealed some cleverly-hidden security cameras, and to add to the strangeness he could feel some sort of electronic baffle that surrounded the place, just a tingle on the edge of his senses. What these countermeasures were intended for he had no idea.

He had narrowly avoided being detected and had already retreated a block away. Now he surveyed his target's location from his perch atop an apartment building. There was no protection from the wind up here, and he was beginning to regret his choice of vantage point.

He absently watched a woman hanging her laundry out to dry on a balcony across the street. It was just as well he hadn't asked the two half-elves at the bookstore; even if he had walked into the building right next to them, there was no way he could do what he needed to once he was in there, and the man would be alerted that he was after him. And that was, of course, assuming that this was the man he was looking for.

He could keep watching, he supposed. That the man was apparently welcome in a half-elf enclave was surprising; but unless he was more tolerant of half-elves than most people, he didn't think the man would stay there long. He would have to leave eventually.

The woman across the street went back inside, and a gust of wind reminded him that he probably should as well. He pulled his cloak about him and took one last look at his target's refuge. He could wait. At much as he loathed it, it was at least within his abilities to wait.

--

Kratos hated hospitals. It was not so much the plain white walls or the antiseptic smell that bothered him, but rather the frustration of being bedridden. Thus the fact that he wasn't technically in a hospital didn't change his sentiment. That Haddon's "apartment complex" had an in-house clinic no longer surprised him.

He was the only one occupying the room at the moment; the other bed had emptied once Carrack had recovered. From what he had heard from the nurse, even the most hypothermic of them was up and about again after two days, but blood loss was another matter entirely.

He fisted his hand in the sheets. His skin was still paler than normal, and he felt a bit weak, but the half-elf nurse had healed the worst of his injuries without even a hint of scarring. That had been a singularly strange experience, to say the least. He wondered why neither country employed half-elves as healers in their military, though not for long.

There was a knock the door, and the nurse shuffled into the room. "You have some visitors, shall I let them in?"

He nodded, and she opened the door wider to admit Martel and Mithos. The latter was bearing a tray, and on it –

Mithos carefully deposited the tray on Kratos's lap. "Roast beef, just like I promised you!"

Kratos almost chuckled in surprise. The smell rising from the tray was rousing an appetite he hadn't felt for the bland food the nurse had provided him. "I hadn't actually expected you to hold to that promise."

"I always keep my promises!" Mithos's indignant expression was quickly soothed as he saw that Kratos had meant no harm by the statement.

Martel dragged some chairs over to his bed, and Mithos dug through a bag Martel had brought in. When he drew out some sandwiches wrapped in paper he realized they intended to take their dinner with him, and mentally shrugged. He had feared they would stand awkwardly watching him eat.

"We thought we'd keep you company," Martel told him as she unwrapped her sandwich. "It must get lonely in here."

Kratos shrugged. Boring maybe, but not lonely.

They began their meal in silence, eating as only the very hungry can. None of them could quite forget the days preceding and their starvation then.

Eventually they slowed down as their appetite receded, and after a while he realized they were looking at him expectantly. His fork hung suspended halfway between the plate and his mouth. "It's good," he ventured.

The relief was evident on their faces. "That's good!" said Mithos. "I've never cooked roast beef before, so I was afraid you wouldn't like it."

"You made this by yourself?"

"Um, yeah!" Mithos's sheepish look and Martel's quiet giggle suggested otherwise, but he let it go.

Kratos put his fork down, uncomfortable suddenly. "Thank you," he said awkwardly. "I appreciate it."

Martel was shaking her head. "It's nothing really," she murmured. "Not compared to what you've done for us."

Kratos's appetite left him entirely. The full force of exactly what he had done hit him again. The consequences wouldn't stop at a good meal, and wouldn't be nearly so pleasant. He continued eating mechanically, knowing it would be rude to leave his meal unfinished.

If Martel noticed his sudden change of mood, she didn't mention it. "And after yesterday, we owe you twice over," she continued.

Kratos started. Had Haddon told them...?

"Which is part of why we came here – we wanted to get the whole story from you," Mithos put in. Then they hadn't known, though clearly they had suspected. "I thought good food might loosen your tongue a bit." Mithos grinned cheekily, but his eyes were cautious.

He suppressed a frown. Haddon had already wrung it out of him, and he didn't fancy telling the story a second time. He couldn't deny those hopeful faces though. He pushed his plate away. "Very well."

He stared at the wall opposite his bed, trying to decide on the best way to put it. "I had headed for the road, as that would have provided a faster means of travel," he began. "When I got there I looked up and down the road, on the off-chance that a vehicle of some sort was heading in my direction."

"Did you see the truck?" asked Mithos.

"No. The spider heading in your direction was a more pressing concern."

The siblings glanced at each other. "It was...heading towards us?" asked Martel, eyes wide.

Kratos nodded. "It was crossing the road to the south, which is how I saw it. I knew that if it continued in that direction, it would inevitably come across you. I also knew that in your state, you would stand no chance against it. Thus I sought to intercept it in its path before it reached you." He grimaced and added reluctantly, "However it seems I overestimated my abilities, leading to..." He trailed off, gesturing to the room around him.

Martel shook her head. "You were hypothermic, you could hardly be expected to have done better."

Kratos had no answer to that. He knew it was true, but that didn't help any.

"Kratos..." Mithos wasn't looking at him. His hands tensed on his knees.

Chair legs scraped against the floor; Martel stood. Her hands were folded together beneath her chin. "We owe you our lives. I can't put into words how thankful I am." Now she bowed deeply, hair falling over her face in soft green waves. "We are forever in your debt."

Kratos could only gape. How was one supposed to respond to that? Had she forgotten that he had left them to die?

"Kratos." Mithos stood as well, and bit his lip before continuing. "If there was something I could do to thank you, I would. But –" He suddenly grinned brightly, a grin that somehow seemed uncertain. "There's something important we have to do, Martel and I. And when we accomplish it, I hope that will go some way towards repaying our debt."

Kratos finally found his voice. "Then I wish you luck in your endeavor."

Mithos nodded and shot another grin his way. With a glance at Martel he gathered up the detritus of their meals and carried it from the room. Martel moved to follow, but before she reached the door she turned and smiled at him. "I think, deep down, you're really a kind person."

The door closed behind them, and Kratos once again found himself dumbstruck. What in the world...?

Kratos tried to put aside for the moment Martel's rather inflated view of him. Mithos's plan, whatever it was, surely involved Nidhogg. That was dangerous ground to tread, and Mithos was likely to get in over his head very quickly. He didn't know how he felt about that. Or rather, he knew exactly how he felt, but didn't know how he _ought_ to feel.

He leaned back on the pillows lining his bed and closed his eyes. It had become almost a mantra, now – "_It's not your problem."_ But it was never his problem, was it? And yet without fail, he always managed to be drawn into whatever disaster he had tried to distance himself from. And he believed, with a conviction bordering on certainty, that this time would prove the same.

--

"Sir?"

"Come in. Your report?"

"The mana shipments were delayed due to the efforts of our little spy, but yesterday we received enough to last us for several weeks. Everything is now running at full capacity again."

"Very good. What of the escapees?"

"Without the tracking data, all we can say is that their only destination could have been Hokke. It's unknown if any of them have actually made it there."

"Pity we had to deactivate their tracking devices, but that's the price we pay for slipping under the radar. Now that our helicopters have power again, send a team to sweep the area between here and Hokke. Send another into Hokke itself; authorize them to use deadly force. We may lose some data, but I want those ex-spheres back."

"And the consultant who aided their escape?"

"Kratos Aurion? If he still lives, bring him back alive if possible. I have thought of a suitable...punishment for him."

"Yes, sir. What of the possibility that they have informed the authorities?"

"Nothing I would worry about. Who would listen to any of them?"

"Judging by their records, Heimdall might."

"Heimdall? Heh. _Heimdall_ will no longer be a problem."

--

A/N 2.0: Yuan totally wasn't even supposed to be in this chapter; imagine my surprise when he popped up beside Martel in the bookstore. But Yuan is a very demanding muse and must be in the spotlight at all times or else he will sulk.

Now, regarding the future of this story: Due to some information I've just found out (from Tales of Fandom and a single line from Dawn of the New World), I've had to change some things, so the next chapter may take a bit longer as I work everything out. I will explain, but don't read if you don't want to spoil yourself for that one line in ToS2.

(Spoilaz)

Initially I had Kratos coming from Asgard and Yuan coming from Tethe'alla, but apparently it's the _other way around_. So I'm going to have to switch that particular bit of their backstories around a bit; however luckily the rest of it doesn't seem to contradict anything, and what I had for Kratos's history apparently matches fairly closely what Namco has for his history. That made me giggle a lot.

(End spoilaz)

In any case, Yuan's "target" (and gee, I wonder who that might be?) is from Kioto rather than Asgard, and the first chapter has been changed to reflect this. Other chapters have also been edited for spelling and whatnot, as apparently my spellcheck stopped working for a long time without me noticing.

Sorry for the long A/N, but as a last note I'd like to thank all the people who stuck with the story this far, especially everyone who's reviewed, favorited it or set it to story alert – that lets me know you're reading 3


	8. Ensnared

Chapter 8:

Ensnared

It was morning, and Kratos stood stretching in an empty park. A dusting of frost glittered on the grass, and the sounds of the city were muted. The slanting rays of the sun managed to penetrate the ubiquitous smog, lending an unearthly glow to the normally grungy city. Kratos, in an uncharacteristically philosophical mood, wondered at how strange it was that such pollution could also cause such beauty.

He popped the last cricks in his back and straightened. While it was a relief to be up and about again, it was still very strange. The speed of his recovery greatly discomfited him. He kept reaching to check wounds he knew should have been there, but weren't. It was certainly no comfort to him to know that without the half-elves' magic he would have likely died.

As he relaxed his posture, his hand fell reflexively to rest on the hilt of his sword, which sat snugly in a new sheath. His own sword still lay somewhere in his Nidhogg office, he supposed, but this one would certainly suffice. His pack was on his back, filled with newly-bought supplies, and his wallet was now empty. It was regrettable, but however much he might need the money, he would be a fool if he tried to get any jobs in Hokke. He was still in Tethe'alla, no matter how far from the capital city, and Nidhogg remained uncomfortably close.

And so circumstances dictated that he take to the road once again. With one last glance around the city, he set out at a leisurely pace, his long legs nonetheless carrying him fairly quickly across the length of the park.

As he walked he mulled over his options. It would be best to avoid the entire Sykwan continent. The west coast was under heavy guard by Kioto forces, and the east cost was for the most part Heimdall territory. The Gaoracchia continent was still a frontier land, sparsely populated, and jobs there would be few and far between. Rimnal was a possibility, but he had had enough of snow to last him a lifetime.

He had nearly made it to the outskirts of the city when a voice suddenly spoke up behind him. "Don't tell me you've let Thornsten's antics chase you away."

Kratos winced. Haddon. He had thought to leave the city quietly, but such was not his luck. He stopped, but didn't turn around."I haven't even seen the man."

"Hardly surprising. You are quite the talented recluse, Kratos," Haddon replied with a low chuckle. He felt rather than saw him step up to stand next to him. "I've barely seen you throughout your entire stay with us."

"You might have seen me more had you visited my room," he replied testily, shifting slightly to increase the distance between himself and the other man. "The nurse would not allow me out of bed." This he admitted reluctantly, as the whole episode of being confined to bed had been rather embarrassing. Mithos and Martel doting on him had not helped matters.

Out of the corner of his eye Kratos could see Haddon shrug. "She's a talented healer, you should listen to her."

No other remarks seemed to be forthcoming, but still Haddon stood there, as if waiting for something. They both watched a street vendor set out his wares for the day.

Kratos struggled to find a new topic of conversation. He had no idea how the others fared – besides Mithos, Martel, and on one occasion Haddon, he had had no visitors, and the only other patient in his room had been Carrack. Carrack he knew had recovered, but a memory surfaced of the white plains south of the city, and a man collapsing into the snow after a ridiculous display that had saved their lives. "How is Daved?" he asked once he had remembered the half-elf's name.

Haddon glanced at him sharply. "You didn't know?" When Kratos just stared at him blankly he pursed his lips and looked away. "He's dead."

Kratos felt the breath sucked out of him. "Oh." He felt like he should offer condolences. "I'm sorry," he said.

Haddon just nodded solemnly, his expression reminiscent of a commander informing a soldier's family of their son's death. "It wasn't the cold that killed him, but the mana deprivation," he said. "He was probably dead before we even got to Hokke."

So they had been traveling with a dead body in that truck. Or two. "Then what happened to –" Kratos paused. He still hadn't learned the man's name.

"Ulrick will be fine," said Haddon, placing a significant stress on the name. "He's lost some fingers and toes, but he'll live."

Kratos let out a breath. He had been expecting to hear that he had died as well.

"Apparently it was the cold itself that saved him," said Haddon, guessing at his thoughts. "It slowed his metabolism enough to prevent brain death."

He filed that away for future reference. "Have you told the siblings of Daved's death?"

"They don't need to know about that." Haddon shrugged, looking embarrassed. "I told them he was transferred to a different facility and is now stable." Kratos supposed that was true in a way. A morgue could be considered a "facility," and dead was about as stable as you could get.

"And what of the others?"

"As healthy as you or I." There was a pause, and Haddon continued lightly, "Or at least I should hope you would be healthy, as you seem to be skipping town already." His tone was amused, but there was an underlying threat there as well.

Silence descended between them once again, and Kratos shifted his weight from one foot to the other. This entire conversation was grating at him. He sighed and turned to face Haddon fully. "What is it that you want from me?" he said finally.

Haddon's arms were crossed, and his lips were quirked in something resembling a grin. He stared at Kratos for a moment, head cocked almost inquisitively, before shrugging exaggeratedly. "I'll get to the point." He straightened, and his expression sobered. "You might have noticed that Mithos is up to something."

"Yes, I had gathered as much," Kratos muttered, intrigued despite himself.

Haddon nodded. "Well, he came up to me last night and told me his plan. He said that he and his sister were going to return to Heimdall and inform them of..." One side of his mouth twitched up in an aborted smirk. "...certain illegal corporate actions."

Kratos sighed. Haddon's flair for the dramatic was beginning to get on his nerves. "Dare you not even speak the name?"

"No point in tempting fate. You caught my meaning well enough."

Kratos ignored him. So Mithos wasn't going to attempt to take Nidhogg head on. That at least was a relief, but this strategy had almost as little chance of success. "Does he truly believe Heimdall has any influence over what Nidhogg does?"

"If you hadn't noticed, he and his sister are a bit naïve. I doubt they realize Heimdall lost any real sovereignty years ago."

Most of the populace were unaware of this fact, actually, but then most people didn't care about Heimdall. "And yet you intend to let them continue with this?"

"And you intend to stop them?" Haddon countered. "I offered them safe haven or passage to Sylvarant, and yet still they insist on taking this path. I don't think anything short of locking them up would stop them."

"Then I can't help but wonder what you think _I_ can do about it."

"_Do_ about it?" Haddon barked out a surprised laugh. "You misunderstand my intentions. I intend for you to go with them."

So that was what this was all about. "I fail to see how your _intentions_ have any bearing on me." It was an automatic retort, born of frustration at the half-elf's manipulations. His arms crossed almost unconsciously.

Haddon seemed to derive only amusement from his growing anger. "Then you are blind! It is a fairly simple answer, but not one I would speak here." He glanced around meaningfully at the pedestrians beginning to appear on the streets, the early morning hours now long past, and gestured into an alley.

Oh, no, that wasn't suspicious at all. Rather than follow Haddon into the alley he maintained a healthy distance between them, planting his feet obstinately on the sidewalk.

Haddon merely tut tutted at this. "If we're going to have a working relationship you're going to have to learn to trust me, Kratos Aurion."

Kratos stiffened at the use of his full name. "What are you babbling about?"

Instead of answering, Haddon turned his back on him and wandered with a false nonchalance further down the alley. "We don't have much money, you know," he began, seemingly tangentially. "It would be such a shame if we were to let a huge windfall slip by under our noses. Say, if someone lost something and offered a substantial reward for finding it." He stopped and shook his head in a parody of regret. "A true shame."

Kratos drew back and scowled. "Do you think you're being subtle?"

"No." Haddon smirked over his shoulder at him. "But I'm making my point, aren't I?"

Kratos clenched and unclenched his hands. He glanced back at the growing crowds on the street, and reluctantly followed Haddon into the alley.

Haddon was leaning against the wall, completely at ease. It was an affectation, intended to contrast with his own stiff posture and remind him of exactly who was in charge. He knew this, but damn him if it wasn't working. "This is my offer," he began. "In exchange for the protection of the Yggdrasill siblings as far as Heimdall, my compatriots and I will in no way turn you in or otherwise reveal your location to any third party." He grinned. "Sound fair?"

"I would hesitate to call blackmail _fair._"

"Blackmail! Hardly. Why would I ask you for money? I know you have none."

"I could easily turn this on you," Kratos said. "You know who I am, it is only fair that I know the same, Haddon Envoy. Turning you in would do the world a favor."

Haddon was nonplussed. "I would like to see you try. Wouldn't it be amusing for you to be arrested even as you turn me over?"

"I could just as easily kill you," Kratos ventured. The minute control he had over this conversation was slipping. He let his hand fall to the hilt of his sword in a clear threat. "Would you come against me now, alone and unarmed?"

Haddon chuckled darkly. "You would be a fool to think I came here alone today."

Followed? Kratos resisted the urge to turn around. "You're bluffing," he guessed.

"Am I? News to me."

Kratos hissed through his teeth. What he said was entirely possible. He was wanted alive, so there was little chance of being killed, but that was nonetheless not a chance he would like to take. He was nearly as eager to avoid a good clubbing about the head and arrest as he was keen to avoid death.

Choices and consequences, he thought. What happened all those months ago was really his own damn fault, after all, so he supposed he would have to pay the price. Penance, if there were such a thing.

And if he was being honest with himself, did he really have anything better to do?

Not really, he concluded, and nodded reluctantly. "Very well." He removed his hand from his sword and forced himself to relax. "But allow me to ask one question. What is your stake in this?"

Haddon's triumphant grin faded, replaced quickly by a mere facsimile that both knew was fooling no one. He looked away, and didn't answer for a long while. "Because no matter how foolhardy, there's always the chance that it will work," he said eventually, thought the words sounded flat and unnatural.

"Then why send Mithos on this task?" Kratos pressed. "Why send me, when you could send someone more trustworthy?"

Haddon snorted. "_Mithos_ is as mulish as they come, and will not be dissuaded. Martel I think is merely following in his wake. I am wise enough to make use of whatever resources I can." He cracked a broken grin, but couldn't reclaim his former levity. "And you? You are merely convenient. I would not want to waste my men on such an unlikely venture."

Kratos had no doubt of that, but there was still something Haddon wasn't telling him. However he grew weary of the half-elf's company, and by the stubborn expression on his face it seemed unlikely he would be able to drag any answers out of him. The brief upper hand he had gained certainly felt like no victory. "Then I believe you and I have no more to discuss." He turned to face out of the alley into the street, and the change in scenery was almost a relief. The half-elf's visage was becoming a hateful sight. "I suppose I shall have to take advantage of your hospitality for a while longer?"

"Not for more than a few d--" Haddon's words were cut off by a gurgle and a pained gasp.

Kratos turned back in alarm. The half-elf was kneeling, one hand scrabbling at the gravel that covered the ground, the other clutching at his chest.

His sword was drawn without much thought, and he spun around, eyes darting back and forth. Gray walls, gray sky, the gray faces of passerby, but no sign of their assailant.

"Stand down," came a rasp behind him. He turned his head, and Haddon was struggling to his feet. One hand was braced against the brick wall he had so recently been leaning on, and the other still rested over his collarbone protectively. Between the twitching fingers he caught a dull gleam.

"You are not injured?" he asked haltingly.

Haddon's response was a dry cough and a feeble attempt at a grin. "You aren't rid of me just yet." He straightened carefully. His hands hung stiffly at his sides now, but the only thing his hand had been covering was his Ex-sphere.

Kratos sheathed his sword, though it left him feeling defenseless. "What happened?"

Haddon shook his head. "Not your concern."

"If we are being attacked, then surely it _is _my concern--"

"It is not your concern!" Haddon barked. "Rest assured that you are not being attacked – yet!" Merely speaking seemed to tire him, but he silenced Kratos's protestations with a severe look. His face was drawn and haggard. He took a few shaky steps, then continued forward mostly on the power of his own momentum. "The Yggdrasills will be leaving within a few days," he said as he passed Kratos, not even sparing a glance in his direction. "See to it that you do not leave before them."

Those were his last words to him before he stepped into the street. Though he held himself up well enough, there was no disguising the sudden weariness that had taken ahold of him. His steps were careful and measured, with the occasional misstep sending him stumbling into other pedestrians. Kratos made no attempt to follow, but watched and waited. Sure enough with a clatter and a curse Thornsten dropped down from a fire escape, shot Kratos a truly nasty look, and followed after Haddon, shoving others aside in his hurry.

Haddon and Thornsten disappeared around a corner, mutterings about "damned desians acting like they own the place" trailing in their wake, and Kratos drew back into the alley, not wishing to emerge just yet. He leaned against a wall to think, the tension still not draining out of his shoulders.

Haddon's responses to his questioning had answered nothing. How could he reasonably expect to keep Kratos to his word? Why did he even believe the endeavor would have any effect? What had his hesitation meant? And the most puzzling of all was Haddon's sudden collapse. A misguided bid for sympathy? It seemed unlikely. Nothing quite added up.

And now he would have two half-elves hanging off him who he needed to protect. He supposed, were it absolutely necessary, that he could leave them at the next town, though the thought of it left a foul taste in his mouth. If Haddon couldn't spare men to go with them, then surely he couldn't spare men to keep tabs on him. It was only until they were a reasonable distance from Hokke – and far from the reach of their surveillance – that he would need the protection of the Yggdrasills' presence.

Were he not so disgusted by this new turn of events he would have almost chuckled at the irony of it all.

---

"Targets Blue One, Red Six, and Red Three have been spotted. Southeast quadrant, north Well Street."

"Can you keep an eye on them?"

"Negative, sir. Red Six and Red Three are heading south together, and Blue One doesn't seem inclined to move just yet."

"I'm in the area, I can tail them."

"Consider it an order then. Don't let them out of your sight. I want to know where they've been holed up."

"Understood."

---

Yuan let the binoculars dangle from his hand and repressed a sigh. He had been shadowing his target since the previous day, sometimes from a distance, sometimes merely from a few paces behind him. He had even been close enough to touch him – which had been unwise, as he very nearly _had_ – but he couldn't remain nearby for long, as surely he would be noticed eventually. So he had once again retreated to the rooftops, a relatively safe position as long as nobody looked up. In his experience people generally kept their eyes to the ground, so he felt no particular danger of detection.

The human, unfortunately, seemed to know what he was doing. He remained in well-lit areas and within sight of others, leaving Yuan virtually no opportunities. Instead his only recourse was to watch the man's every move, which was what so irritated him now. Were there ever brochures advertising the benefits of the occupation of bounty hunter – an unlikely thought, but an amusing one nonetheless – the one thing they would never mention was the excruciating boredom. Aimless wandering, a cheap cup of coffee, morning calisthenics.... He had watched the man go_ shopping_. It was almost more than he could bear, when all he wanted to do was –

Yuan forced himself to relax. Personal vendettas had no place in this business, though he couldn't deny that one such personal vendetta had led him on this man's trail to begin with.

The maintenance door behind him creaked open, and it was all he could do to not whirl in surprise. He stowed away the binoculars before the other could see them and turned in what he hoped would be interpreted as nonchalance.

The other man looked surprised to see him. It was a young half-elf, dressed in the blues and grays of a maintenance worker. His face was the sort that was instantly forgettable, but Yuan couldn't help but notice that he was missing two fingers on his right hand.

"What are you doing all the way up here?" the man asked, his tone only mildly curious. He set down his toolbox on the ground and nudged it aside with his foot; it hit the wall with a sort of hollow clatter.

Yuan shrugged, the movement shifting his cloak off his shoulder. "Just getting some fresh air," he said, and tugged his cloak about him once more.

The other just raised an eyebrow. "At least you're dressed for it," he said, and Yuan forced a sardonic grin onto his face.

"It's not much colder outside than it is inside," he said. True enough, if the building's hallways were any indication.

The maintenance worker had sidled his way over to his side. "Too bad this uniform doesn't come with a coat," he said, more or less to himself. Yuan himself was apparently already forgotten, as the other man was staring intently at a street cafe below them. Only one man sat there today, the temperature driving away any other customers.

Yuan glanced at the worker, then behind them where there sat one of those dull metal boxes that always lurked on top of buildings. He had never been too clear on what their purpose was. "You going to fix that or something?" he said when the other didn't move.

The worker looked up and stared at it almost blankly. "Oh. Yes." He took a few slow steps over to where he had left his toolbox, running his right hand through his hair thoughtfully.

"It's about time," Yuan said, then decided he was pushing his luck and fell silent. The half-elf's presence made him a bit nervous, but fleeing now would only arouse suspicion. He redirected his gaze down below, where his target was finally emerging from his alley. The redheaded half-elf had already left – oh, if only he could have been privy to that conversation! – and now the man had a rather disgruntled expression on his face. Yuan couldn't help but smirk in approval of whatever it was that so displeased him.

There was a clatter, and Yuan frowned. Was that man still rummaging through his toolbox? He turned, but the man's body blocked his view of whatever he was doing. The man ran his hand through his hair again, almost a nervous tic, and those two missing fingers caught Yuan's attention once more.

Now that he thought of it, he had seen the man somewhere before, earlier today. Several times, actually. It was not his facial features that he remembered, but the idle thought, _I wonder how he lost those fingers._

That revelation, however small, forced him to look at the man in a new light. He quickly reviewed his memories of the man, paltry though they were, and as he replayed the last few minutes in his mind one small detail stuck out.

When he had shoved aside the toolbox with his foot, it had made the wrong sound. Instead of the clinking and scraping of many tools being jostled together, there was only a hollow noise and the sound of a single object hitting the side of the box.

He was willing to bet that whatever was in the toolbox was not a tool, but a weapon.

Yuan felt distinctly now the absence of his own weapon – curse his teachers for saddling him with something so large and obvious! -- and stood abruptly, his cloak swirling about him_. _"I'm heading back in," he said to the man's back, and before he could even turn his head Yuan had already closed the maintenance door behind him.

He took the steps down two at a time. He could just be paranoid, but there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. There was always the possibility that he was another bounty hunter after the same quarry as he, and of course there were enough gangs and criminal syndicates, even terrorists to be found in any major city center that he had every right to be cautious.

He pushed open the front door of the building, the glass chill against his hand, but the human had already disappeared. If that other half-elf _had_ been a bounty hunter, he had certainly succeeded at making him lose his target. Yuan wasn't concerned, though. There weren't many places the human could go, and he knew where he was staying.

However he also knew he would have to make his move soon. Yuan let the door close behind him and started down the street at a brisk pace. Though he doubted he would get the chance to do anything while still within the city, judging by the supplies the human had bought the day before he was planning to leave soon enough.

And then.... Yuan couldn't suppress a smirk. Then he would have him at his mercy at last.

---

Mithos trotted down the hallway, one hand absentmindedly toying with the contents of his pocket. The air ducts in the ceiling hummed comfortingly as the building's heater made a concerted effort to beat the cold; still he had to shiver a bit as he passed a drafty window.

He watched the doors carefully, though the door numbers had often been worn off long ago. Down the hall and to the left, Thornsten had said, and he would find Haddon's office. He thought it must be convenient to have your office in your own apartment building.

He thought he had found it – there was a note taped to the door, in Haddon's handwriting, reading "Out for a bit, back later," when he heard footsteps coming from the other end of the hallway. He wasn't sure why he did it, maybe some remnant of paranoia from _that place, _buthe ducked behind an open door and and let the footsteps go by.

The footsteps stopped at Haddon's door. Whoever it was said something Mithos couldn't make out, received a response Mithos couldn't hear, and let himself into the office. Haddon, it seemed, was in.

Mithos emerged from behind the door in time to hear an alarmed voice he identified as belonging to Carrack. "Haddon! What happened?" He made his way closer to the office door, his curiosity getting the better of him. Neither the walls nor the door did much to muffle their voices.

"It's just this..._thing_ again." The disgust in Haddon's voice was palpable, though Mithos had no idea what it was directed at. There was a pause, and Mithos imagined Haddon making some sort of emphatic gesture. "I just didn't think it'd happen to me so soon."

"You have had it the longest of all of us. Are you still up to --?"

An impatient huff. "I'm fine, just give me your reports."

A pause, and a sigh. "Well, I believe we have some snoops. One half-elf, one human."

"What? Where?"

"Earlier today. Ulrick caught them watching your conversation with Kratos, though they were too far away to hear anything without listening equipment."

"And why is Ulrick back on active duty already?"

"He insisted. There wasn't much I could do, short of physically restraining him."

There was a long, drawn out sigh, wearier than Mithos was used to hearing from Haddon. "If we hadn't lost so many in that raid last month, I'd tie him to his bed, but as it is...."

A raid? Surely the human police hadn't been harassing Haddon and his friends? Mithos nearly let out a sigh of his own, knowing it to be only too likely. Apparently they were subject to police surveillance as well, with a half-elf cooperating, none the less! It made Mithos's blood boil to think there was such a traitor to their race.

He had lost track of the conversation, and was beginning to feel like a bit of a snoop himself, so he knocked on the door politely and waited for the answering call of "Come in" before he entered.

His attention was immediately drawn to a ratty couch along the far wall, where Haddon lay with one arm over his eyes. A mostly empty glass of water sat on an end table, as if he had just taken painkillers. "Are you all right?" He glanced at Carrack. "Did I come at a bad time?"

Carrack looked like he wanted to say something, but only thinned his lips when Haddon waved a hand weakly at him. "Just feeling a bit under the weather, is all." Haddon sat up with considerable effort and leaned on his knees, looking at Mithos directly now. "Is there something you needed?"

Mithos opened his mouth, then closed it. If Haddon wanted to push his limits, that was his business. "Martel and I have been doing some odd jobs for the past couple days – carrying messages and so forth – and, well...." He finally withdrew his hand from his pocket, bringing with it the coins he had been fingering for a while. "We wanted to pay you back for all that you've done for us." He chuckled nervously. "And the money you lent us for Kratos's meal, of course." He held out the money for Haddon to take, the coins weighing heavy against his palm.

Haddon stared at Mithos's outstretched hand for a moment, then smiled. He reached out and closed Mithos's fingers around the money. His hands were cold and dry. "Keep it," he said. "We didn't let you stay here expecting to be paid back." He grinned wryly. "And we were going to feed Kratos anyway, though certainly not roast beef."

Mithos frowned a bit, but didn't need any encouragement to put the money away. They would certainly need it to get back to Heimdall. "Well, at least now you won't have to take care of us much longer."

Haddon laughed now, and spread his arms wide. "Mithos, I offered you shelter," he said. "I didn't mean for only a few days."

Mithos almost couldn't find anything to say to that. "You – you would...?" he managed.

Haddon nodded. "It's not just the roof over your head or the food in your belly," he said in a more subdued tone. A quick, proud grin flitted over his face. "It's the walls around you. As long as you're within the building, Tethe'alla won't be able to track you. We've invented a device that scrambles the signal."

Mithos's right hand drifted up to his ear. It had healed over long ago, but he knew it was there. "You...you can do that?"

"Just messing around with some old radio equipment," said Carrack, and Mithos started, having forgotten the man was there.

"You invented it?"

Carrack just shrugged and didn't say anything.

"So you can see why I was so insistent on you staying," said Haddon, and Mithos nodded slowly. "I don't suppose I could change your mind now?"

Mithos took a deep breath, shook his head and smiled. "It's tempting, it really is," he said. "But we have to do this, no matter how dangerous it is. For...." He swallowed. "For the sake of all those people. Back there."

Haddon made a sound that was half a laugh, half a sigh. "Then I wish you luck. We'll do our part back here, too."

Mithos had been staring at the floor pensively, but now he looked up. "You're going to put pressure on the government too?" he asked.

Haddon and Carrack glanced at each other. "Something like that," said Haddon.

"If you've finished, Haddon needs to rest," Carrack broke in suddenly in a brusque tone. "He _should _be lying down right now." He shot Haddon a significant look, who acquiesced with only a weary grin.

"Oh! Right, sorry." Mithos backed away apologetically. He paused, and let a hand rest on the doorframe. "Hope you get better soon."

Haddon's smile looked strained, but Mithos was already turning away.

---

"I have an address, sir. 1633 Bell Avenue. All targets have been seen at the site within the past few days."

"Very good, but we need to move fast. All right, boys, listen up. We move in tonight at 0100 hours, in conjunction with Yellow Team. Hold your positions until 2200, then move on to the coordinates I send you."

"Copy, sir."

"Copy."

"Copy."

---

A/N: This will be on a brief hiatus until I can finish Dawn of the New World, though given my normal update schedule I doubt that will make much real difference.


End file.
